


The Eagle of Thedas

by DariusSobreitus



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Fast and Loose with Dragon Age Canon, Fast and Loose with Isu Technology, Fast and Loose with Odyssey canon, Harems, Kassandra Bangs Everyone, Kassandra has Eagle Vision, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Trans Female Character, Trans Female Lavellan - Freeform, this was a weird idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-02-10 19:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DariusSobreitus/pseuds/DariusSobreitus
Summary: Kassandra finds herself in a world not her own, from Misthios to the bodyguard of the Herald of Andraste. With no certainty of being able to return to her world, the world wary Kassandra finds a new place to finally call home. One worth saving.





	1. A New World

Kassandra lay over the side of the _Adrestia_ looking out to the surprisingly calm Aegean Sea. Night had fallen and the stars were out, painting the constellations with vigils of the ancient deeds of ancient peoples. The Misthios idly touched the golden orb hidden within her belt, if it was true what Pythagoras had said, would she endure as he did? Would her image one day be painted among the stars?

                Would statues litter the world, crumbling and in decay, her effigy buried under the feet and roots of the world taking them over? Would she become a story, like that of Herakles, Achilles and Odysseus? What would they say of her story? That she brought about the end of her own family when her enemies could not? That she was a kinslayer, cursed by the Fates to insanity without the dream of a peaceful life? Would she be remembered for her kindness and generosity? Or her fearsomeness in battle and ruthlessness to her enemies?

                Would she be remembered at all?

                She shook her head, Kassandra had never been beholden to ideas of vanity, whether it’s a village treating her a god, or the way she dismissed the rumors surrounding her supposed divinity. It was true she was part of a distinct bloodline, one valued enough to be hunted from afar Persia, but even her proclaimed divinity was not enough to save those dear to her.

                Blood was no armor; it was an open vulnerability.

                The sound of steps alerted Kassandra to another’s presence.

                “A good night for observing the tapestry of the Gods!” Barnabas proclaimed. Kassandra smiled, her friend always had a manner of assurance and optimism that often infected her with how contagious it could be. It was no wonder he lived so long with that bright spirit.

                “A rare quiet night,” Kassandra said with a nodded. “Any news for us?”

                Barnabas shook his head, “It is silent, the Spartans remain on the land, and the Athenians prowl the seas, none to be dealt with, save for bandits, and even they are too few to cause much trouble for us!”

                Kassandra nodded. “All this time on our hands, and what are we to do?”

                “A good night of dreams may lead us to our next destination! Or even simply pass the time and allow Helios to inspire us with his light!”

                The old man had a point, her eyes were heavy, and her muscles worn from training. Often, on a slow day such as this, Kassandra dueled with members of her crew, and if that wasn’t happening and the sea was calm enough, she would swim around the ship until exhaustion told her to return.

                “Sounds good to me,” Kassandra said with a weary sigh. “Hopefully Hypnos is merciful to me tonight!”

                “I shall pray for you my friend!” Barnabas called cheerily, as Kassandra went to the back of the main deck and lay down upon a ram’s skin, her bed for the night. They were too far from any uninhabited island to find a beach to rest on tonight, but Kassandra would make sure they landed the next night.

                As the Misthios lay down, she wondered wearily if this was a calm before the storm. A pause before Poseidon let his rage manifest through storm and thundering skies.

                She didn’t know how correct her intuition was before she left sleep claim her.

 

                _Her nightmare was much the same as usual, Phoibe’s small and lifeless body, cold long before Kassandra could reach her, Nikolaos’s form, even as he died, warning her of dangers that awaited her, even if he had left her to die once before, he had tried to help her even as she savagely cut him down. Stentor’s rage after finding her again, and despite her wish not to, forced to kill him as well. Brasidas, wounded and bitter dying on the blade of her estranged Brother, Deimos. The same brother who killed their mother before her eyes, only to fall to her blade._

_Besides them, hundreds, thousands of bodies before her. Bodies of Spartans, Athenians, Bandits, Huntresses, Cultists, and ordinary citizens who stood up to her in protest of her violent ways. Beyond them, standing as a wall, were thousands of others, their lovers, families, friends, all looking at her with sorrow in their eyes. They all seemed to ask the same question; was it worth it? Were the drachmae worth it? Were the lives she had taken worth it when her family was gone, and she was all that was left?_

_Wherever she wandered, death followed, and now, with Pythagoras gone and the duty of Keeper passed to her, she would live on, as the ones she loved died, time claiming them, while she continued. It was a fate that wore on her unconscious mind, even making her pull into herself more._

                Kassandra woke to screams from her crew, and the rocking of the ship.

                “All hands to oars!” Barnabas called over the roar of wind that seemed to howl louder than a thousand wolves.

                She was instantly on her feet, eyes taking in the situation before her.

                There was wind and choppy seas, not the worst storm they had encountered, but the suddenness of it was unwelcome and the violence of it concerning. She hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours, with the night persisting.

                “Barnabas, what’s going on?” She asked the old man, he looked at her with one eye in concern.

                “Something beneath the waters, Commander, it creating a pull on us!”

                Kassandra rushed to the side of the ship looking over it, sure enough, some twenty meters off the starboard side, was a strange vortex beneath the waves, giving off an eerie green glow to it. It didn’t appear to be a creature of the sea, but the way it moved was disturbing the water, twisting it into a whirlpool that was slowly expanding.

                “All hands shift to port! Row for your lives!” Kassandra shouted over the winds and confused sounds of her crew, once her voice was sounded everyone went to their tasks to set the ship in order. The marines on deck shouting encouragement to the rowers below. The Commander herself kept on the side of the ship, watching the whirlpool and keeping her orders in the ranks to be heard clearly.

                The ship turned, its aft facing the whirlpool as it tried to speed away. At first it looked to be going well, but the growing size of the whirlpool was hampering them, the further the ship went, tbe wider and stronger the tide pulled on them. Kassandra now knew for certain this was not natural, whirlpools were never this violent and they certainly didn’t expand this fast or give off a glow of any kind.

                The winds were against them, so any use of the sails would be counterproductive. It was all up to the rowers, and despite their valiance and endurance of many battles, they were not enduring the pull of this whirlpool that well. Slowly, their speed fell to a crawl, a dead stop, then a slow lurch back, all while the rowers increased the intensity of their rows. It was getting desperate.

                “Is this Charybdis’ wrath? Its soon to sallow us whole!”

                Kassandra didn’t believe this to be any creature, not one natural in any case, she charged down into the belly of the ship, finding the heavy musky smell of human exertion in the holds with the rowers.

                “Marines to rowing!” She shouted up, relieving a gasping rower and taking his place. Sore as she might’ve been, she was still fresh as she aided the whole row with their oar. Seeing their Commander among them and their marines soon joining, the whole mood of the rowing galley lit up and everyone pushed themselves to increase their speed.

                Kassandra threw all of her strength into the oar in her hands, certain that she might break it from the speed she turned it, the rowers next to her not nearly as fast or strong as she was in her frantic and zealous state. They needed to escape, to survive.

                They continued to row, against all hope, chance or reason. Fear was a friend, aided by desperation, and Kassandra for one embraced them to their fullest potential.

                After what felt like hours, cries from above began to reach Kassandra’ ears, drowning out the sound of her own blood rushing through her head, and her own breath in the humid galley.

               “We’re moving! We’re escaping! Keeping going!”

                Kassandra took the words to heart and continued to row, harder than she ever had before, the oar creaking from the strength behind her grip on the wood. She looked out to where the oar dipped into the water, they were moving away, slowly, but surely, the Adrestia would live to sail another day.

                More encouraging shouts and cries pushed her forward, until finally, with a lurch, they broke free of the whirlpool’s grip. The ship erupted into elated yells and cries, all just happy to be alive.

                Kassandra set the oar down and stood up, arms aching from the speed and strength she had exerted. Rolling her arms, she made her way to the main deck, when a loud cry and splash sounded above. Adrenaline not quite gone from her, Kassandra shoved and pushed her way to the deck of the ship, looking to Barnabas for an explanation.

               “Herodotus! He’s fallen overboard!”

               Kassandra rushed to the side of the ship and looked over, sure enough, the scholar was there, paddling in the water, he huffed and blew water from his nostrils, wiping at his eyes, and looking up dazedly. “A bad time to get a good look!” He called up. Kassandra chuckled.

              “Get him a rope and we’ll-“ She started, only to feel the lurch of the whirlpool again, she looked, it had grown larger once more, sickly green in the dark blue of the waters. And worst of all, it had Herodotus in its clutches.

              “It’s pulling me!” The philosopher called in panic, trying to swim towards the ship, only to be pulled away, and under the water.

              Kassandra didn’t think, she acted. Leaping from the ship and into the maw that awaited her, she dived under the water, seeing a shape in the water that resembled Herodotus and reached out for him. His body was pulled from her grasp, she swam towards him, looking past to see the origin of the green light. It looked like green fire, with smoke and all within its depths, and it was sucking all the water around it into its green maw.

             That was all it took for the Misthios to grab hold of Herodotus and turn around towards the ship. She knew her strength wouldn’t be enough to get him to the ship before he drowned, so she pulled out her spear, still strapped to her back. Focusing her will into it, she swung it behind her and stopped suddenly with the tip facing the green flames, and with a golden flash, she and Herodotus were shot through the water and towards the Adrestia. The strength of the spear was too much, as it sent them through the top of the water and into the air, near parallel to the deck of the ship. Instinct taking over, Kassandra shifted her weight, throwing the limp form of Herodotus onto the ship’s deck before she fell again, back into the dark depths.

            As she fell, a loud, shrill cry sounded. Kassandra saw a dark shape flying down to her with inverted wings and recognized her lifelong companion. She opened her arms as Ikaros flew into them, and from there into the sea.

            The pull was greater than before, Kassandra barely breaking the surface of the water before being wretched towards the green flames. Angling her body, Kassandra made her feet go first, holding tight to Ikaros as both Eagle and Bearer were pulled into the green flames.

            Kassandra closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable death that awaited her and her companion.

~

                Sylva Lavellan was running, breathless, her body ached everywhere, and her left hand burned for some reason unknown to her. She didn’t have much time to worry about it, having woken up, she was immediately set upon the most fowl and terrifying spiders she had ever seen in her life.

                Her staff was not with her, and she had to rely on the fire her hands could direct and aim. But even then, her body was weak, and her magic wasn’t of much use to her. Running seemed to be the only option she had.

                As she ran, she had realized very belatedly that she was in the fade, the eerie green mist, the suffocating presence on her mind, even the oddly sensless quality of the whole place. Except in this case she was there, really there. Her feet felt the ground beneath her, her lungs breathed in the air, and her skin crawled from the strange lifelike tendrils of the mist curling around her body.

                She stumbled and fell over, her dark curly hair sweating from her exertion, dripping onto her dark skin and the white vallaslin of Sylaise over her left eye. Slender as most elves, she quickly picked herself up and continued to run, not sure where she could run or where. Unlike her dreams, the Fade didn’t open and turn the paths depending on what she wanted, it twisted and turned on its own means and will without her to guide what she saw or needed.

                The spiders, large as they were numerous didn’t give her a moments peace or rest as they followed her, crawling along the sides of the walls around her, trying to surround the Mage and get the best of her. Those that stood in her way, Sylva threw fire at, even if it sapped her strength, she needed to survive.

                After what felt like an eternity, light finally found Sylva, literally.

                Across a ravine from her, an altar stood, stairs running up to it. And there, perplexing to the elf, was a figure of flaming gold. A spirit perhaps, it seemed to stare in her direction, and contrary to her own senses, the figure seemed to draw her. Having dealt with numerous demons in her dreams, Sylva had long learned to differentiate between spirits that would aide and bolster her, and demons who would seek to use her vices to walk the physical world with her body.

                This figure felt more like the former, but more powerful, more potent.

                Hearing the spiders behind her, Sylva made her way down the path, knowing she had to make it up the stairs and get to that spirit. If she was lucky, it would either protect her from these spiders, or at least guide her from the fade.

                She scrambled towards the steps, the momentum from the downward slope of the ravine giving her the needed push onto the steps. Even so, she struggled to make progress against  the sharp stones that were impossibly steep and large, forced to crawl and climb them as if scaling a mountain. Her body already burned, and this was too much for her.

                She had made it a few of the steps up before one of the spiders caught her, its pinchers grabbing hold of her leg and jerking her down. Caught off guard and already weakened, Sylva fell from the steps and tumbled back down to foot of the stairs. The spider that had dislodged her dropped to attack her, the Mage raised her hands and a pillar of flame came from her hand, sending the spider overhead and away from her.

                Rolling to her feet, Sylva heard the scuttling legs of more spiders, she saw them, and they were too close for her to ascend the stairs safely, resigned to a hard fight that would end up killing her, she raised her hands to defend herself.

                Three spiders scuttled towards her at great speed, Sylva preparing a firestorm for them, however, she didn’t get the chance.

                From the left, three arrows, alight with flame struck the spiders, hitting each in the head and quickly burning through them. The spiders turned in the direction of the arrows, when they did, a flash of gold took both creatures and Elf by surprise.

                With a short spear impaling a spider, a figure stood between Sylva and the creatures of the fade. They were tall, wearing a simple armor on the torso, forearms and shins, but strangely with no breeches or undershirt. Revealing bronzed skin beneath the red scarf covering the figure’s shoulders. The figure, to Sylva’s eyes at least, looked to be a woman. A human woman. With regal and striking features that at another time may have made the elf hot in the face, as of right now, she didn’t know who this person was, or what they were doing. Her brown hair was held in a cord, resting on her left shoulder.

                Brown eyes met hers, and a determined look appeared on the human’s face, “Go! I’ll hold them off!”

                A flash of gold light consumed the figure, and suddenly she was wearing strange armor of gold sculpted to illustrate the physique of a human man with red pauldrons that had tassels of leather hanging down from them. A golden helmet surrounded the woman’s face, revealing only her eyes and mouth in narrow slits on the face of the helmet, a red crest laid upon the helmet facing forward like the mane of a horse.

                The woman turned, brandishing the spear and a strange short sword going on the offensive on the spiders.

                Not waiting longer than necessary, Sylva turned and began to climb the stairs again, this time with her back covered and protected by the strange woman of the fade. Golden light rained from behind her as well as a tremor from the ground, looking back, she saw the woman rise from a circle of cleared mist of the fade, around her were the spiders, some as corpses, others twitching and getting up.

                Sylva looked up, the golden figure was looking down at her, hand offered. “ _Here!”_ It shouted, an ethereal woman’s voice. She reached up and took the offered hand with her left and was pulled up. The burning in her hand seemed to subside for a moment as she was hoisted onto the altar. Laid on her back, the elf took a quick breath before looking down the steps towards the mysterious figure.

                She fought on, already leaving piles of spiders all about, but more took their places, and more swarmed her. Even with the skill she seemed to possess in slaying these creatures, she would be overwhelmed soon.

                Sylva raised her hands, twin balls of flame coming to nestle in her palms contently. She looked down at the spiders and the warrior.

                “Move!” She shouted, the warrior turned, saw her then immediately made for the stairs, as the mage rained flames down on the spiders, creating a wall of flame between them and the figure climbing the stairs.

                With practiced ease, the other woman climbed the stairs without issue, moving fast and fluid like a wolf through a grassland or a halla through a forest. In moments she was there on the altar with her, breathless and wary from battle.

                The golden figure, having watched until this time, grabbed hold of Sylva’s hand and directed it towards a stone doorway in on the altar. Green lightning fled from her hand and green light took over the doorway, revealing a different world on the other side. Light, with snow on the ground and trees beyond that. A way back to the real world.

                “This way!” Sylva shouted to the other woman, who nodded, whistling into the air, only for an eagle to swoop down and land on her shoulder.

                The two made for the door, the golden figure seemed to follow, but instantly, both the mysterious woman and Sylva fell to the ground, pain wracking her skull and making her feel nauseous and weak all of the sudden. Weaker than she should have been.

                The golden spirit looked down on them, their features unreadable in the gold light they cast, but Sylva felt like it was smiling at them. _“Go!”_

The figure turned and erupted into a glowing gold light, shining towards something beyond them, and Sylva felt enough energy return to her to pick up the other woman and carry her through the doorway and out of the fade. In the back of her mind, more of a thought than a sound, she heard a deep masculine voice chuckle maliciously.

                They passed through the doorway, and within two steps, both women collapsed to the snowy ground. Heated skin and exhaustion overcame the cold snow they lay upon, both woman falling to sleep the instant they fell.

 

~

                When she woke again, there was the sensation of rough stone under her knees, her arms and legs cramped form the position. She tried to stand, but her ankles and wrists were bound by metal manacles, almost causing her to fall. Kassandra opened her eyes, taking in a dark stone enclosure, with the wall of a metal cage before her and on her flanks, while stone covered the back of the prison cell. That’s what it clearly was, with armed guards outside the bars, wearing strange padded armor with hands on the hilts of very long swords of a foreign make.

                Dazed Kassandra woke up fully, taking in her surroundings. Her armor and weapons were gone, though thankfully the staff, condensed into an orb still rested in a hidden pocket within her chiton. The metal bars didn’t look too strong, one kick ought to do it, though her spear was gone from her grasp, she could still take it down in the right moment. Thoughts of escape running through her mind, Kassandra saw a flash of green resonate from a cell next to hers, along with the cries of a woman.

                “Are you alright?” Kassandra asked to the other cell, ignoring the frightened whispers of the guards fixated on the woman in the other cell.

                The other woman, grunting in pain, looked up, seeing Kassandra and recognition passed between their eyes.

                “You’re that woman!” She said, followed by another gasp of pain.

                “I am a woman,” Kassandra agreed with some humor, looking at the other prisoner. She was lithe, slender with an almost boyish frame, but Kassandra could tell from the voice alone she must have been close to her age if not older. Her skin was dark and smooth, with hair that curled and confined itself, not falling beyond her chin. Curiously, she had a strange white floral design over her left eye, it was too fine and vivid to be paint, perhaps a tattoo? Most curious to Kassandra were her ears. It was dark in the cells, but to her eyes, she thought the other woman’s ears were pointed. But she shook it off, it must have been a trick of darkness or her own exhaustion. “Are you alright?”

                The other prisoner looked up and grimaced in pain, “Oh yes! Just have a hand feeling like its being melted while useless Shem guards stare and gawk instead of fetching a doctor or healer. Tale of my life really!”

                Kassandra looked down at the hand and didn’t know what to make of it. Her left hand bore a strange mark, it looked to be a burn or brand of some sort, but it glowed, it glowed green, like the strange place of fog and creatures they had escaped from.

                “Do you know where we are?” The other woman asked with a gasp of pain.

                “No idea,” Kassandra said, she turned towards the guards. “Hey, Malakas! Where are we?”

                The guards were silent, staring at the two with beady, suspicious eyes.

                “Not talkative, are they?” The prisoner grunted.

                “Not so much,” The Misthios agreed. “Hey! Shitface! Tell us where we are!”

                “You are in the Chantry of Haven,” Came a voice, a new one, another woman’s.

                From the shadows, two figures emerged, a tall, armored woman with a sword and shield, with short black hair and a scar on a regal face, she was glaring daggers at Kassandra and was not one to trifle with. She reminded Kassandra of the other Misthios she had met, fought, fucked and killed, she just wondered which one she would be. The other was equally as tall, but more slender with chin-length red hair, and piercing blue eyes, with slow, methodical steps.

                “Who are you?” The armored woman asked. Kassandra looked to the other woman, who smirked in pained irony.

                “After you.”

                Smirking, Kassandra turned towards the armored woman, “Kassandra.”

                “Kassandra?” The redhead said, “Kassandra what?”

                The Misthios considered where to place her nationality, Sparta had not been home since she was a child, and between killing Athens’ leader and leaving Kephallonia behind, there was only one place she could call home.

                “Kassandra of the Adrestia,” She said.

                The armored woman glared down at her, shifting her gaze to the other prisoner. “You?”

                “Sylva Lavellan,” She said, “The Keeper’s first.”

                “A mage,” the armored woman said.

                “Not part of the Chantry so you can’t stick me in a circle,” She fired back.

                The armored woman paced in front of the cells, “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, you two are the only survivors from the temple of Sacred Ashes, and you are going to tell me what happened.”

                The other woman, Sylva let out a gasp, “Only survivors? What happened?”

                The redhead stepped forward, “There was an explosion, the temple, and all known occupants inside were killed. All that remains is…a breach.”

                “A breach?”

                “An opening to the fade,” The redhead said.

                Sylva gasped. “T-that’s impossible!”

                “I wish it were,” Cassandra said. “But it has sprouted numerous other rifts to the fade, more demons pour out, and more people are lost.”

                The redhead stepped forward, “Tell us what happened, everything you know, that mark on your hand, the Divine, anything!”

                Kassandra was lost, they spoke of places and things she didn’t know of. Temple of Sacred Ashes? A Breach? Rifts? Demons? What were they talking about? Where in Tartarus had she wound up?

                “I…don’t know,” Sylva said, her forward of confidence and snark was gone, replaced with fear and shock. “I…can’t remember.”

                “What is the last thing you do remember?” The redheaded woman asked.

                “I remember…waking up in a…temple? The Temple of Sacred Ashes? But it was all wrong, burnt, destroyed and…ancient. I was set upon by creatures, she,” Sylva gestured towards Kassandra. “She stopped them, gave me time to clamor up the steps, then a woman took my hand, and then…we went through a doorway, and fell upon the snow and then….now.”

                “Another woman?” The redhead inquired.

                “More like…a spirit, she was all gold, I don’t know, but she saved us?” Sylva said, obviously wracking her mind for information.

                Both interrogating women looked between each other, before settling on Kassandra, “Can you confirm what she said?”

                The Misthios hesitated, with so many words, places and phrases being shared, she wasn’t sure what was going on or what her part in it was. She considered lying but given the strange land with strange people she found herself in, she had to be careful. Telling the full truth might be good as far as making a good start to explain where and how she got here, but there was no telling how they would take it.

                In the end, she decided the truth would be less difficult to explain than a full lie, besides, if she didn’t know what in Hades they were talking about, it wouldn’t do her well to try and go along with their narratives.

                “All I know, is that one moment, I’m on my ship, the Adrestia, safely at sea with no one hunting me, the next, a whirlpool threatens to consume my ship, I fall into it, end up in a strange land of green fog,” Kassandra gestured towards the other prisoner. “I see her running from…creatures, I stop them, until they’re too many, then follow her. There was another…person there, though I can’t recall them except for a being of gold, she spoke, this woman and I fell through a door in the air, and I fall asleep in a place of snow. Waking here under guard and very thirsty.”

                The redhead, despite the melancholy in her stature smirked ever so slightly at Kassandra’s words, the other Cassandra did not look pleased.

                “A ship?” She said. “You were out at sea?”

                “Yes.”

                “Does that make you Antivan or perhaps Rivaini?” She asked. The words were foreign to Kassandra’s ears. Perhaps it was their own words for Athens and Sparta? The Staff she bore as an orb translated languages she heard and allowed her to speak the words back, but evidently these words didn’t translate.

                “I do not know those places, if you had a map, I might be able to point it out to you, but I don’t, and I doubt you’re about to give me one,” Kassandra said.

                The other Cassandra scoffed, looking back to the other woman. “Leliana?”

                “The elf, Solas, believes the mark on her hand may hold some key to the breach, we should bring her to him,” The redhead, Leliana, said.

                The dark-haired woman nodded, looking down at Kassandra. “And her?”

                Without answering, Leliana marched straight up to the bars, “Bring her too, she might factor in.”

                “Sounds nice, but I’d much prefer to just be given my armor and weapons and set on my way, I won’t get in your way,” Kassandra said, trying to charm to two into letting her go and get as far as she could from this strange land.

                Both women glared at her, “Until we know your role in the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, you will not go anywhere. And if you think for a moment that I’m going to arm you and give you a chance to slip away, then you’re surely Andraste herself.”

                Confused, Kassandra shook her head, “At least give me my spear, I can help if there’s a foe that needs killing!”

                The other Cassandra stepped forward, pulling the spear of Leonidas out, holding it in her gloved hand, “I will return it when I am satisfied you are telling the truth and your innocence is assured.” She put the spear away, looking over the Misthios with a curious look. “I will permit you your armor, don’t make me regret it.”

                Shooting a glance at her companion, Leliana opened Kassandra’s cell, kneeling next to her and undoing the shackles. “Stand, follow our orders, and you’ll be set free once we are convinced you are telling the truth.”

                The short-haired woman opened Sylva’s cell, undid her manacles and helped her up. “Come then, we have to head for the front.”

                “I’ll meet you there, I’ll gather everyone I can,” Leliana said, moving ahead of them and out of the prison.

                The Seeker nodded, turning to Kassandra who was still seated on the floor, “Well?”

                “Did you happen to find an eagle with me?”

                The armored woman raised an eyebrow, “An eagle?”

                “Yes, he came with us through the doorway into the snow,” Kassandra said.

                “From the Fade, you mean?” Sylva said, shaking her wrists.

                “Whatever you call it, yes,” Kassandra said, turning back to the woman who shared her name. “Do you have him?”

                Cassandra shot her a strange look, “I’ll secure your armor, but I don’t know anything about an Eagle.”

                Holding in a disappointed sigh, the Misthios nodded. “That’ll do.”

                The Seeker took them up a flight of stairs into a great hall glowing orange from tinted windows and warm fires burning throughout. A guard approached with the Misthios’ armor. Eagerly, she dawned the greaves, bracers, cuirass and belt. She didn’t have her sword, bow or spear with her, making her feel oddly vulnerable for the first time in a long while. She turned to see the other woman observing her armor.

                “Your armor,” Sylva said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

                “Well, I haven’t seen armor like these people wear before, so I suppose we’re even,” she said with a playful smirk.

                “I think you’ll be suffering from the cold in that,” Sylva said.

                “It’s not as if I could pack, besides where I’m from it was warm enough,” Kassandra turned towards the other woman. It was brighter now, and she saw that she was not hallucinating before, the woman had pointed ears! The shell of the ear was sharp and long, larger than any normal human ear. The Misthios knew she was staring but was so caught of guard she couldn’t stop it.

                “What is it?”

                “Your…ears…” She said dumbly. Instantly the other woman became defensive.

                “What, do you have problems with elves?”

                Kassandra blinked owlishly at her, “Elves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Yeah, this was a weird idea, but y'know what, no one else has done it or likely will do it, so why not? Plus, given some of the lackluster romances of AC Odyssey I wanted to see Kassandra develop such relationships with this group of rogues. 
> 
> No idea how consistent this story will be, but its a fun side project that I'll work on every so often. Not expecting a lot of views or interest, so this is purely self-indulgent.


	2. The Breach

Sylva gaped at the strange woman before her, “You’re not serious, are you?”

                Before Kassandra could answer, the Seeker pulled their attention to the Chantry door. “Come you two, we’ve wasted enough time.”

                The door opened and blinded both prisoners, having grown accustomed to the darkness of the cells below, the light was blinding. Blinking to clear her eyes for a few moments, Sylva opened them to see something wrong with the sky. Where the sun should’ve been blinding them, there was only a green, cloudy mass that, like a spider had legs spread all around it to the ground.

                “What in Hades is that?” Kassandra asked.

                “The Breach,” The Seeker said.

                At the word the mass pulsed as if it had a heart that was beating. As it did, icy and tearing fire raced through Sylva’s hand, feeling as if hot and icy claws were trying to widen the scar on her hand. She fell to her knees, her hand reached out towards the Breach, as if drawn to it. She grunted and cried as the pain hit its peak and then fell back down. It had felt like some invisible string was connected to her hand and the Breach, a violet tug from it ignited fires, as if the rope came from her hand and burned as it left the mark.

                She realized suddenly that Kassandra was at her side, asking after her health in concern. She would’ve responded had the other Cassandra hadn’t crouched in front of her.

                “The Breach is expanding in tandem with your mark, and it is killing you, I do not know how long,” The Seeker’s steel-colored eyes searched her own. “The only one who knows of your mark, Solas, is up the mountain, if we find him, we might find a way to save you and seal the breach.” Despite her consoling words, Sylva detected the suspicion in her eyes and voice.

                “You still think I’m responsible?” She asked.

                “What I think doesn’t matter, what you do or don’t do will decide your guilt or innocence,” The Seeker said, looking over her shoulder, people were surrounding them, staring and gawking at them in fear, anger, curiosity and callous curiosity.

                “Do they blame me?” Sylva asked, meeting the eyes of the shems who stared at her with contempt in their eyes.

                “They believe you to be the ones who destroyed the Temple and killed Most Holy, and will think that way until you prove otherwise,” The Seeker said.

                “Or until my ears shrink and my vallaslin fade,” Sylva spoke bitterly, turning her gaze to the Breach. A weight dropped in her stomach, if what they said was true, Demons were pouring out of that thing, people were dying, and if it wasn’t stopped now…who knows how many more would die? How long would her clan be safe in the Free Marches before word of this reached them? Before word of her involvement in the conclave caught the ears of the less-savory human lords? How long before their blades found their way into her clansmen?

                Swallowing her pride and putting the greater good in her heart forward, she opened her eyes, “I understand. Whatever must be done, I’ll do it. But I won’t accept the guilt of a crime I did not commit.”

                The Seeker nodded, turning to Kassandra, “And you?”

                The bronze-skinned woman considered between the Seeker and the Breach, “Not sure I can reach that, but I’ll help however I can.”

                A modicum of relief passed over the Seeker’s face, a knife pulled from her belt, for a moment, Sylva worried it had been a ruse, a shadow of compassion to hide her intent to kill the elf here and now. Instead, she cut the ropes around her wrists. She did the same with Kassandra.

                “If we live, there may be a trial, other than that, I cannot promise anything, not even a swift death,” She said solemnly.

                “That could be averted if you gave me my weapons,” Kassandra insisted stubbornly. The Seeker leveled her a glare.

                “Your weapons are at one of the forward camps, and until you prove to me you are trustworthy, I will not grant them to you,” She said with a frown. “I have given you your armor back, and that is as far as I will go.”

                Kassandra frowned, shaking her head, “Have it your way then.”

                The Seeker scowled by gestured for them to move forward, “Come, we must make haste.”

~

                The Misthios wasn’t certain of what was happening, she wasn’t when she fell into a strange flame into a strange world of green fog only to end up in a place that had snow and was nowhere near the sea. And now, she was being blamed for some death of a person of high authority, not a King or Queen but perhaps a Head Priestess or even an Oracle of their own?

                If that wasn’t enough, some of the people here, elves, had sharply pointed ears and strange tattoos upon their faces. At this stage, Kassandra hoped she awoke to find Barnabas had given her too much wine or some mystery food.

                She was grateful that the staff hadn’t been taken from her, disguised within her clothing and no one thinking to take it. The staff, being the vessel of knowledge and many other uses it had, was able to help Kassandra with the language that was certainly being spoken. She had met a merchant from Persia some time ago, and while her crew hadn’t understood a word, she understood him perfectly, and, according to him and crew, she had spoken to him in perfect, if accented, Persian.

                No doubt these people spoke a different language to hers, but at least the staff could translate it and give her clearer understanding of what was going on. One could only imagine if was unable to translate the languages spoken to her and be more lost than she was.

                The trio was jogging up a path towards the green fire in the sky, a wound pulsing and pouring our green flaming projectiles like an infected cut leaking puss. Even if she was unnerved by what it meant, with the destruction it was causing and the fact the Seeker said it was growing bigger gave her reason to fear. Just like the green flame that had nearly swallowed her ship and crew. That had swallowed her whole.

                As they ran people came towards them running from the Breach, as it was called, some reporting to the other Cassandra to give her reports and updates, others running in sheer panic and terror, it didn’t look good.

                They continued, moving enough to keep the cold from affecting the Misthios negatively, but it was a long way there yet, and the sun-kissed Kassandra was unused to the cold.

                “Are you alright?” Sylva asked as they ran, seemingly aware of Kassandra’s predicament.

                Caught and unwilling to let her pride supersede her well-being, gave a shrug, “I’m glad I don’t have balls, else they’d be frozen now.”

                Sylva, oddly coughed and looked away at that moment, “Uh, yes, certainly. Come here for a second, I can help.”

                Intrigued, Kassandra stopped jogging and went to the elf, the Seeker, annoyed at the stop, seemed to understand the situation, standing a short distance away. The elf looked to her with barely-veiled snark.

                “Do I have your leave, Seeker?” She asked.

                Cassandra nodded, “Just be quick.”

                The Misthios frowned, “Quick with what?”

                Sylva in response rubbed her hands together, breathing into them and sparking flames that suddenly coated them. Before Kassandra could move away, those hands were on her, her arms and then her legs, the flaming hands didn’t burn. They felt very warm, and comforting, even leaving behind a strong warmth to them, like heated cloth now coated her arms and legs.

She did the same to her armor, making the gold bronze feeling heated by the sun on a hot day, and instantly, Kassandra was amazed and much more comfortable. Her muscles no longer aching in tight constraints at the cold air.

“What the-,” Kassandra moaned from the warmth suddenly coating her. “How did you do that?”

“Just some elvhen magic,” Sylva said. “Fire doesn’t always have to be destructive, nor do our abilities as Mages,” She said with a pointed look at the Seeker who frowned back at her.

Kassandra blinked at her in confusion, “Mages?”

Sylva stared back at her with a similar quality of confusion, “Wielders of magic?”

“That-that was magic?” Kassandra asked.

“Do you…not know magic or mages?” The other Cassandra asked, looking at the Misthios with shock to rival the elvhen mage.

“I know of Hekate, yes. But actual magic? I’ve seen a potion to destroy the hair and skin, a wine that can made one hallucinate, and objects that create creatures of legend only to collapse when they die…is that all magic?” Kassandra asked.

Neither woman knew what to say or how to continue the conversation, eventually the Seeker, shaking herself from her stupor talked back towards them. “Come on, we can settle this later.”

Realizing the absurdity of the conversation they had, Kassandra nodded standing to her feet and following the other Casssandra. Sylva jogged up behind her.

“Where you come from there’s no magic or elves?”

“Not that I know of,” Kassandra said. “Just mortals and those who claim to be descended from gods, as well as cheep tricks and skill to describe something otherworldly.”

“And you don’t believe them?” Sylva asked.

Kassandra spared a look at her, “I’m the closest thing that comes to a descendant from a god, where I’m from, and I have seen worlds much more ancient and foreboding than our own, but all that feels like nothing compared to this.” She gestured to the sky.

“Remind me to interrogate you in full about your life, where you live and these gods you mention,” Sylva said.

Kassandra smirked, “If we live through this, you can ask anything you want, and I’ll answer it to my best ability.”

“Sounds good to me!” Sylva said as they continued up the trail.

They eventually arrived at the top of the hill, a bridge before them, crossing over a frozen riverbed. As the trio crossed it, Kassandra looked up to see a green comet from the Breach heading towards them.

“Look out!” she shouted, reaching forward and grabbing the breastplate of the Seeker, and securing Sylva with her free arm. The projectile just missed them, but struck the bridge in front of them, destroying its stability and sending them all down on to the riverbed below.

Kassandra took the brunt of the fall, landing on her back with the two women atop of her. The Seeker was quick to roll to her feet with experience ease, while Sylva took some time to roll off in the daze she was in. Eventually getting up and offering a hand to Kassandra who took it gratefully.

They turned their attention to the Seeker who had her eye on something on the lake, from one of the debris of the comet, a green energy wafted off the blackened stone, suddenly sprouting a hunched figure of flame that stood up on the bed of ice. It had no head, mouth or legs, just a long torso that had arms and flowed to the ice, with narrow slits of blazing orange for eyes.

Cassandra, drawing her sword and swinging her shield off her back called to them, “Stay behind me!” Attacking the foe with calculated strikes with her sword and strike from her shield.

As she did that, more debris before Kassandra and Sylva swirled with the green energy, both looking at each other in concern. The Misthios looked to her left and was blessed with a wonderous sight, her spear! It must have fallen from the Seeker’s back during the fall.

She rushed towards it just as another monstrosity of flame rose from the debris. She picked it up, feeling the warmth and power behind it flow through her body, the power of the spear imbued with her own, each enhancing the other. In an ordinary person’s hand the spear was just a broken one, in her hands, it was a weapon capable of killing monsters and Gods alike.

The fiery creature advanced on Sylva who raised her hands, an icy mist coming from her fingertips and coating the creature of flame, it slowed, but didn’t stop, melting the ice as fast as it was cast on it.

Smirking, Kassandra threw her spear, it hummed as it flew, piercing the creature of flame. Its molten eyes widened, and it screamed in rage before eradicating into nothing. The Misthios catching her spear before it fell to the ground, she looked to see the Seeker fighting another fiery creature, as well as a tall creature seemingly made of wood.

Not wasting a moment, Kassandra threw the spear again, striking the fiery creature, she rushed to it, pulling the spear from its disintegrating body and throwing it straight towards the tree-like creature, piercing it in one strike and causing the thing to melt back onto the ice without a branch remaining.

The Misthios, cocksure and back in her element casually walked past the Seeker and retrieved her spear, settling it comfortably back on the strap of her armor.

“Its over,” Sylva said with a breathless gasp.

“Put your weapon down!” Came the voice of the Seeker, Kassandra turned slowly, staring at the other woman. She had a few inches on the short-haired woman, as well as speed and mobility…she could easily end her right now, take Sylva with her and either try and find this Solas person or just run and let the rest of them deal with it.

The Misthios considered it, as anyone who had ever put her in a cell or threatened her person had wound up dead, a whole Cult as proof, and now this one woman stood between herself and the freedom she sought. She tightened her grip on her spear in thought, then she remembered the words of her father.

“ _Beware the Snakes in the Grass, Kassandra,”_ A reminder of acting in haste and impulse.

Kassandra looked up to the Seeker’s eyes, reading them. This woman hadn’t killed them when it was likely the simplest thing to do. Even as they were beset by these creatures, she had tried to protect them, her prisoners.

                “I’m better use to you armed then not,” Kassandra said.

                “If we’re going to make it to the Breach, we need to be able to defend ourselves, Seeker,” Sylva said, standing in front of Kassandra. “She just took out three demons in the blink of an eye and didn’t kill us. Doesn’t that warrant some amount of faith or trust in her at least?”

                Cassandra considered, looked between the two of them before sighing, “You are right, it is dangerous going forward, and I cannot protect you all the time,” She turned to move forward but stopped, “I must remember that you both agreed to come willingly.”

~

                Sylva was amazed by Kassandra of Adrestia more and more as this impossible day seemed more and more impossible. If it wasn’t her oddly protective nature of her and the Seeker, a shem protecting her was something left to romantic or fetishizing stories of her people, especially given her disposition as a mage. It was her raw skill, easily dispatching demons with a spear that seemed to her to be imbued with a magic of her own, in how easily it dispatched demons and the abilities it gave her as a warrior.

                With it she could move faster than any fighter she had ever seen, was able to clear a circle around her with one punch of the spear to the ground, could kick hard enough to break stone, and could bring down any foe they faced with ease.

                The Seeker and her both barely had to do anything as they made it up the hill, she walked with a staff now, having found one on the way and receiving no complaints from the Seeker.

                After Kassandra had finished a group of demons, the other Cassandra looked at her skeptically, “Are you sure you’re not a mage?”

                “No,” She said with a chuckle, wiping some grime off her spear. “I cannot summon fire or ice from my fingers. Though it seems a handy skill.”

                The Seeker frowned, but continued to question, “Then is your spear magic then?”

                Kassandra shrugged, “As close as can be, I suppose,” She held the short spear up, its blade shining silver and gold. “It was my Grandfather’s, passed to my mother after he died at Thermopylae. Where it comes from and what gives it such power, I am not sure.”

                The other Cassandra nodded, about to say more, but sounds of fighting pulled their attention over the hill to a destroyed wall it looked to be.

                The trio charged over the rise and saw soldiers battling demons, along with, oddly, an elf and a dwarf. Beyond them, was what looked to be a small version of the Breach, a tall curtain of green energy that mimicked the void of green fog she had woken from and stumbled into Kassandra. Sylva threw fire and ice at the demons, settling herself on the rise and giving covering fire to the warriors who were desperately outnumbered.

                Kassandra, armed with only a spear and salvaged dagger, danced as she fought, with quick and decisive movement that left no room for a counter attack or even escape, she evade, ducked, rolled and jumped away from any attack sent her way, but left her enemies breathless and dead upon the ground. Demons who did not have the same physical limits of mortals had trouble keeping up with her. If the bronzed shem didn’t fascinate Sylva before, she did now.

                The demons were shortly taken care of, and Sylva descended down to reconvene with the Seeker, before she could get a word in edgewise, the elf marched to her, a determined look on his face. He grasped her by the wrist and drew her to the glowing canvas of the fade.

                “Before more come through!” He shouted, lifting her hand. In an automatic manner, her hand opened, the pull she had felt before manifested in a chain of green lightning connecting her to the strange portal only for it to surge and close, the energy feeding back to her hand with a jolt that made her gasp.

                “What did…what did you just do?” She asked the other elf.

                “Sealed the rift, a passage the spirits used to come into this world, like the Breach, but smaller,” He said succinctly, before smiling and bowing, “But I deserve no credit, _you_ were the one who sealed it.”

                Sylva looked down at her hand in surprise, “So…this mark could seal the Breach?”

                “Possible, but uncertain,” The elf said. “I apologize if I caused you any discomfort, I reacted only in desperation.”

                “It’s fine,” Sylva assured, remarking at the elf’s manners. “I’m Sylva.” She took him in, he wore very threadbare clothing, nothing conspicuous or telltale, save for what looked to either be a jawbone or a foot bone on a necklace around his neck. He wore no vallaslin, and had no hair, perhaps he was a city elf then. His features were sharp and angular, his grey eyes studious and calm.

                “Solas,” He said with a bow, turning his head to see Kassandra approach. “Ah, I see you have come as well.”

                Kassandra nodded, taking in Solas’ appearance in a measured gaze. “Kassandra.”

                “Oho, another Cassandra? Just when I thought being ass-deep in demons was going to be a challenge,” Came a mirthful, sly voice. Both Sylva and Kassandra looked over to see a dwarf approach, he lacked a beard, though bore facial hair, he wore a brown coat over a red shirt, and had a large and strange-looking crossbow on his back. “Of course, the way you two fight, that’s a good thing in my book.”

                The Seeker groaned in annoyance, while Kassandra looked at him with a perched brow, “And you are?”

                “Varric Tethris,” He said with a bow, “Storyteller, occasional spymaster, and, to many circles, unwelcome tagalong.” He threw a wink at the Seeker who rolled her eyes.

                “I meant…ah…” Kassandra faltered, not certain of how to put it.

                “He’s a dwarf, Kassandra,” Sylva said. Varric raised an eyebrow.

                “Do you not know what dwarves are?”

                “I…am not from here.”

                “Huh, must be a hell of a story, we’ll hear about it later I’m sure,” Varric said, turning to Sylva. “How’s the hand?”

                Sylva enjoyed the casual nature of the dwarf smirking, “Oh you know, trying to kill me, but what hasn’t today?”

                Varric chuckled, “Oh we’ll get along fine.”

                “We must move,” Cassandra said in a huff. “We need to reach the forward camp; from there we can make for the Breach and close it.”

                “Hopefully,” Solas said under his breath.

                “Try some optimism chuckles, it might do you good,” Varric quipped.

                The group made their way out of the ruins and made their way south, towards the Breach. A few demons and shades crossed their paths, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The Dwarf had tried to make some subtle questions to both Sylva and Kassandra to see if they were responsible, their flat responses must have convinced him as he soon dropped it.

                After crossing a shallow valley and going up the hill, they finally reached what was to be the forward camp, an old fort with token protections that did little more than make walls that held off the demons.

                Entering it was…disheartening, all around were cries and wails of agony, wounded and dead soldiers and civilians in the courtyard, dozens of them, and when they entered, glares seemed to follow where they went. Sylva, already taxed beyond her usual tolerance for human glares felt her felt shrink on the onslaught of the eyes on her, if it wasn’t for her being an elf, a mage or even a woman, it was because she bore a mark that many considered to be the brand of her guilt in the Divine’s death and their current predicament.

                She was unprepared however, when Kassandra slowed until she was next to her and wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. She looked up in question at the human woman.

                “Stay close to me, if I obscure them, then they’re just looking at me,” She said with an easy smile at her. Sylva found herself nodding and taking comfort in the embrace, she certainly was warm.

                They were led through the fort to a large salvaged table of crates and bundled hay, atop of it a map of the area, behind it was a man in the robes of the Chantry, he was in his middle ages and when he looked up and saw who approached he scowled.

                “Seeker! What is the meaning of this? Those two are the ones…!” He began, only for said Seeker to cut him off.

                “The only ones who may know what happened, killing them or sending them away does nothing for us, but using them to end this threat here and now is good reason,” Cassandra replied coldly.

                The man frowned, “I will not put anymore lives of the faithful in the hands of these two, restrain them, pull our forces back and then-“

                “You are not in authority here!” The Seeker shouted in rage. “You, Chancellor Rodrick, oversee bureaucratic measures, make sermons when appropriate, you do not command armies or the battle, that falls to the Right and Left Hands of the Divine.”

                “She’s dead!”

                “Yet we still live!” Cassandra insisted, she gestured towards Sylva’s glowing hand. “We have a way to win, to save more lives! I will not lose this chance while we still have it!”

                Having no interest in the matter, the Seeker led them towards a small corner of the fort, her face flushed with anger. “Rest here,” She said testily, “We will move soon, rest while you can.”

                Sylva instantly went down, Solas and Varric joining, the woman in golden armor however didn’t. She looked towards the Seeker expectantly as she wandered off, before crossing her arms and peering all around them.

                “Good ‘ol Chantry, when things are going to shit, the first thing they do is bicker about who has the biggest stick of faith to lead others.”

                “Indeed,” Solas replied, taking a sip of water. “Rarely do the faithful and the militant mix together.”

                Sylva took a waterskin offered to her from Varric, drinking deeply, despite the cold, the running and fighting had taken its toll and made her sweat worse than in the Free Marches. It was a blessing to drink from it, finally having a brief rest among all the fighting. If her adrenaline wasn’t so high, she would have fallen asleep.

                Instead, she stood and walked over to Kassandra. “Thirsty?”

                Kassandra looked over at her, saw the skin, with a small smile she took it and drank from it. “Ah, thank you.”

                Sylva smiled, “It’s no problem.” She made to leave, but a firm grasp at her arm by the armored woman stopped her.

                “What are you going to do if your mark doesn’t work against that,” The Misthios asked, looking up at the Breach, still swelling in size ever so slightly. “What will you do?”

                Sylva, too wrapped up in the action of the day, hadn’t considered what would happen if they did fail, or indeed, if they succeeded. She was certain if she failed, and it didn’t kill her like the mark was supposed to, then she would be killed anyways, if not for being an elf or a mage, then her supposed role in the Divine’s death. Really, either way, something wasn’t going to go right for her in this situation.

                “Haven’t thought that far ahead,” Sylva admitted, turning to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Do you have a suggestion?”

                “Well, I know how to fight, you know the land and customs, if things get out of hand, I say we run away. Find a ship and keep to the sea, maybe find my way back home after dropping you with your people,” Kassandra said.

                Sylva nodded, she patted her on the arm, “We’ll see if we can get that far,” She said. “First things first, we need to take care of that Breach. And if that works out, we’ll see what comes next.”

                Kassandra nodded, understanding. “Alright.”

                At this moment the Seeker returned, and with her a strange bow with a quiver and a sword. The other Cassandra approached the taller one, handing her the weapons. “I am told these are yours.”

                Kassandra smiled, taking the weapons and arming herself, “Thank you.”

                The Seeker nodded before addressing the small group, “The road ahead is wrought in battle, our forces are fighting the demons, if we go that way, we will be fighting through them, but we’ll have their support.”

                “And the other option?” Sylva asked.

                “Through a mountain pass, it’s longer, but we’ll have less demons in our way. However, we have reports of missing scouts that way, and we have no way to know what’s up there.”

                The Seeker looked to Sylva expectantly, “Which route do you wish to take?”

                “You’re asking me?”

                Cassandra nodded, “It is you who wields the power to seal these rifts and, Maker willing, the Breach. I would not make that decision for you in this case.”

                Sylva nodded, grateful for that decision. Between charging at the main force of demons with soldiers who already showed their distrust of her, the less people the better, as well as saving their strength for the Breach itself.

                “We’ll take the mountain pass, hopefully find the scouts as well,” Sylva said. The Seeker nodded and began to move.

                “Actually,” Kassandra spoke up, the Seeker turned to her.

                “What?”

                “I’m going to charge with the soldiers,” Kassandra said. “They could use an extra hand, and these demons fall just as men do.”

                The Seeker considered this but flatly shook her head, “No, if we split our group up we’ll have less chance of reaching the Breach at all.”

                The golden armored warrior pointed at the soldiers behind Kassandra, one bore a cast on their leg, a sling for their arm and was still arming themselves with an axe and moving out of the fort.  “We’ll do better if have surviving soldiers to get there with.”

                The Seeker scoffed, “And you think you can achieve that? That you alone can change the fate of a battle?”

                Kassandra smirked cockily and crossed her arms, “Where I’m from, I do it all the time. Haven’t fought in a skirmish or battle that I haven’t led to victory.”

                Doubtful, Cassandra turned and considered, “I cannot let you go alon, eand I cannot leave Sylva with…Varric,” She said shooting a distasteful look at the dwarf.

                “I will accompany her, Seeker,” Solas volunteered. “You already have a mage, and the smaller your group is, the more chance you have of sneaking past any demons you encounter.”

                The Seeker frowned, but eventually nodded. “Very well, report to Commander Cullen, he is leading that attack,” She turned and shouted. “Captain Rylen!”

                A bearded man came over, crossing his arm over his chest and bowing, “Seeker, how may I serve?”

                “Take these two to the front,” Cassandra said, gesturing to the two. “They will fight with your soldiers.”

                Rylen took one look at Solas and frowned, unimpressed, but one look at the golden armored warrior and his eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. “At once!”

                Kassandra approached Sylva and put her hand on the elf’s shoulder, “Stay safe,” From one of the weapons given to her, she pulled out a dagger with strange runes on the blade, none she recognized. “You know how to use it?”

                Sylva smirked, “I’m a Dalish Mage, not a Circle scholar.” The reference seemed lost on the other woman as she patted her shoulder and made her way past her to follow Solas and Rylen towards the front with the soldiers.

                “Let us move,” The other Cassandra said, gesturing, two soldiers fell in step behind them, swelling their own numbers and, as Sylva suspected, watching her and Varric, neither of whom the Seeker seemed to trust.

                As they made their way up the mountain, Sylva wondered what she would do if their plan for the Breach failed or if it even succeeded, what would happen? Her use fulfilled, would the people kill her in cold blood, or let her go? Cassandra had promised a trial, and she could only imagine how that would go. Dalish and trials went together like wood to flame.

                Personally, the idea of eloping and escaping to the high seas with Kassandra seemed more and more appealing. Especially seeing how easily she dispatched demons.

~

                Kassandra’s breath misted in the air, the sing of her helmet being struck rang in her ears, and blood ran down her right eye. Before her, a creature that resembled the ones of fire stood above her, its single white eye glowed with something she could only recognize as smug. She grinned behind her visor.

                “Is that the best you have?” She said, standing to her feet. The creature, a sloth demon, she had heard others call it, seemed to chuckle slowly, raising its taloned hand to strike again.

                Kassandra lashed out with her foot, striking the demon in the chest, sending it back towards Rylen who stabbed through its chest. The Misthios pulled her helmet off, inspecting the damage to it, a long scratch of three claws had cut into the bronze, nearly ripping off the cheek piece and splitting the nose piece. If she kept it on, she knew it would be destroyed beyond repair, if it wasn’t already. One hand on the orb in her clothing, the other on the helmet, the latter faded into golden ashes, flowing into the orb, to be received when she needed it.

                The staff in its disguised form was more useful than just storing knowledge, it could store weapons, supplies, tools and full suits of armor in its depths. A true gift worthy of the gods, and she was more thankful than ever to have it now.

                Rylen approached her, concern on his face, “Are you alright?”    

                Kassandra shrugged, “I’ve had worse, trust me.”

                “Your resilience is commendable,” Solas said as he came up from behind, sweating and panting from his own battle with demons. “But I suggest haste, as more of these demons are sure to be coming through the rifts.”

                Kassandra nodded, and the trio made their way forward up the scourged war path.

                Kassandra’s decision to charge with the soldiers had come from a few different places in her mind, one being personal and another being tactical. On a personal level, she wanted to fight with the soldiers and spare them death if she could. Despite being a Misthios, war hadn’t been something she enjoyed more than she just endured, violence and survival was what raised her, and its what kept her going. War was a bloody horror and left her with many sleepless nights with the faces of those she killed in her mind’s eye, more than them were those she had loved and cared for who also died, people she failed to protect when it mattered.

                She wasn’t going to take the easy path and let these people die without helping them directly, and so far, with her as the tip of the spear, countless had been saved already, but many were still dying. That was why they couldn’t stop now.

                The tactical reason she chose, having discussed philosophy at length with Sokrates and Alkibiades and having seen the whirlwind of Athenian politics, she knew enough on how to inspire. In this case, taking the blame from her, and by extension Sylva, by leading the charge, fighting desperately and aggressively, saving lives where she could and cutting down scores of demons as the soldiers behind followed and watched in awe.

                If they failed, then at the very least, the soldiers would remember what she did on this day, and who she would protect.

                They passed through the gate of a wall, just as soldiers were trying to flee, Rylen grabbed one of them, “Soldier, where are you going?”

                “A rift ser!” The soldier said in panic. “It opened; they’re killing us!”

                Rylen cursed with colorful analogies that nearly made the Misthios snort, he turned to Solas, “You know nothing of sealing the rifts without the other?”

                Solas shook his head, “No, I lack that ability, and I doubt we’d do much more than hold the area surrounding it.”

                Kassandra made her way through the gate, taking in the field in front of them, barricades had been set up, likely to funnel the demons into a narrow killing zone, but to her eyes, with several dead and wounded laying around the barricades, it hadn’t been so successful. Demons wandered the area, those called sloths, rage and terror flooded the area, more than the three of them could handle hand-to-hand.

                She drew her bow and a score of arrows, knocking four at once and drawing, as the arrows touched the edge of the bow, the tips ignited into flame, the bow of Hades it was called, apt as it would bring death to any who felt its sting. It was a relic, made from the same strange metal and properties of her spear and staff, turning ordinary arrows to those with flames on the end without a spark or flame to light them.

                The demons noticed her presence and began to converge on her as a pack, she released her knocked arrows, four finding their targets with ease, two of sloth, one of rage and one of terror. The sloths were killed instantly, while the lumbering terror was only slowed, and the rage demon seemed unaffected. She frowned in realization, flame, of course.

                She knocked four arrows again and fired into the mass of demons, killing more, but knowing she didn’t have enough arrows to keep doing this, she put her bow on her back and drew her sword and spear.

                A rage demon approached her, raising both flaming hands to strike her, only for a blast of ice to come from behind her and strike the creature in the chest, stopping it were it stood. Taking advantage of this, Kassandra channeled the energy from her spear to her leg and kicked the demon center mass, shattering it.

                As it crumbled, Kassandra charged into the mass of demons, slashing, dodging, blocking and stabbing her way through them. She fought like Ares himself had inflicted his bloodlust upon her, carving her way through the demons with a ferocity and ruthlessness that surprised even her. More kept coming through the rift, and more she fought, at one point surrounded, she raised her spear and stabbed it into the ground creating a radius around her as the demons were thrown back.

                Even as she did this, a green circle surrounded her feet, before she could move or react, a lanky, treelike demon of terror erupted from it and knocked her to the ground, standing over her with claws raised. She rolled, narrowly escaping the strike, slashing at the back of its leg, Rylen and Solas arriving to finish it off.

                The Captain offered her assistance in standing, which she took, the three looked to see more soldiers arriving and taking care of the demons.

                “If nothing else, you can fight,” He commended, fixing his glare on the rift. “What now?” He asked Solas. The elf frowned.

                “Nothing that can be done, not without Sylva and her mark we simply have to-“Before Solas could finish his sentence, Kassandra walked towards it. Instinct drove her, whispers from the staff said it could seal it. Pulling the orb from her person, it shifted into its true form and seemed to vibrate as it neared the rift. Recognizing the similar reaction Sylva had had, Kassandra raised the staff, and from it, a golden arc of energy that struck the rift, hitting it in the center and making it collapse in on itself. In the span of a moment, it was gone.

                The energy of the rift released in a small shockwave, one that made Kassandra fall to her knees. The staff, while useful, was draining, she hadn’t quite mastered its properties yet, but it had done what it needed to. Shakily, using the staff for support, she stood to her feet, taking deep inhales.

                There was a shocked silence as Solas approached Kassandra in awe, “How did you do that?”

                “One guess,” Kassandra said, her staff shifting back into an orb she put on her belt.

                “That…staff, I have never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?” He asked.

                “Later, it’s a long story,” She said.

                A blonde man approached, removing a helm in the guise of a lion, and looking to Rylen. “Good to see you Captain, I see you were able to seal the rift.”

                “Not me, Commander,” He said gesturing towards Kassandra. The blonde man frowned.

                “Where’s Seeker Pentaghast?”

                “Taking the mountain pass, the other prisoner wanted to take that way and find the missing scouts, this one wanted to charge with the soldiers. She’s saved a good score of them so far,” Rylen explained.

                “I though the other one had a mark?”

                “She doesn’t,” Solas spoke up. “However, she seems to have weapons that can seal rifts as well. You would be wise to take advantage of that.”

                The man nodded, looking towards Kassandra at last. “Commander Cullen, you are?”

                “Kassandra,” She said.

                Cullen smirked slightly in amusement, “That’ll get confusing,” He said, looking up the path towards the underbelly of the Breach. “That rift was stopping us from getting to the Temple, now we have a straight shot, make it count!”

                Kassandra nodded, gesturing with her head to the others to make up the hill. She wondered idly why her staff had the same power as the mark on Sylva’s hand, and whether that made her more of a threat in their eyes. Either way, things just got a lot more complicated.

~

                It had barely been two hours since they separated, but as Sylva, Varric and Cassandra descended from the mountain pass with the surviving soldiers and other stragglers, they immediately met with Kassandra and her group, a little worse for wear, but still alive.

                “Long time no see,” Sylva said. Kassandra smirked and nodded.

                “Any troubles?”

                Sylva shrugged, “A rift and a really cold hallway, otherwise it was fine.”

                As they spoke, Solas made his way to the Seeker and explained what happened at the rift, she had responded with a quirked eyebrow and another suspicious glance towards the pair talking amicably. More so on the taller woman, where was she from and what part did she have in all this?

                The large group entered remains of the temple, their people spreading out along the perimeter. Kassandra, as they walked, noticed a strange crystalline material jutting from the ground in spikes. It glowed and oozed a strange aura, she reached out to touch it, but a strong and large hand caught her by the wrist.

                “Don’t touch it!” Varric hissed.

                “What is it?” Sylva asked, seeing more of it around them.

                “Red Lyrium,” Varric spat. “This shit does some nasty things to people, and statues. In general, just don’t touch it and we’re all good.”

                The group made their way down the remainder of steps, just below the Breach, with no other way to access it. Sylva looked helplessly at the Seeker and Solas.

                “Give me a boost?”

                A ghost of a smile flickered over Solas’ face, “Unnecessary, you merely need to focus your energy and seal it like the others, then-“

                Something churned in the Breach, the liquid fire ore rumbled and roared like a trouble sea, and from its depths, voices.

                _“Someone, help me!”_ A woman’s voice cried out; Cassandra gasped.

                “T-that’s Divine Justinia’s voice!” She said in horror.

                Solas frowned, “It seems the fade is reflecting past events, perhaps clues to what happened.”

                _“Keep the sacrifice still,”_ A deep and cold voice demanded imperiously.

                Kassandra shared a troubled look with Sylva, the voice pointed towards someone other than them responsible for the Divine’s death. It rumbled deeply and inhumanely, even when not physically there.

                There was the sound of a door being broke down and a body hitting a stone floor. Followed by a furious demand of, _“What’s going on here!?”_ It was Sylva’s voice.

                _“We have an intruder, kill her!”_ The male voice ordered.

                The voices stopped there, and it was silent for several moments, before the Seeker turned on Sylva.

                “You! You were there!” Cassandra said accusingly, advancing on the elf. “Who else was there, who attacked the Divine? Where is she?”

                Suddenly attacked and cornered, Sylva grounded her heels, clenched her teeth and looked the Seeker dead in the eye, she had a few inches on her, but she would not be intimidated, not now. “I don’t remember, Seeker. But as you just heard, someone was trying to kill the Divine, and me.”

                For several moments the Seeker searched the eyes of Sylva before reluctantly pulling away and turning to the other elf. “Solas, what is required now?”

                “As before, Sylva must use the mark to seal the Breach. Beware, Cassandra, the Breach is an open dam, and even filling it will take time, in that time spirits will be called to it while it remains open.”

                “That means demons,” Cassandra said, turning to the soldiers around them. “Stand ready!”

                Kassandra came up next to Sylva, drawing her sword and spear. They nodded to each other, and the elf raised her hand, as before, the pull of the Breach caused green energy to flow from Sylva’s hand to the tear in the sky. It was much different this time though, where there had been a pull before, this felt like the Breach was going to pull Sylva up and swallow her whole with how strong the pull was. Failing that, it’d probably rip her arm off easily enough.

                When the pull was becoming too much for her, she pulled her hand away and fell to the ground breathless, it had felt like the Breach had been sucking out her whole being. She looked around dazedly, only to register something big in front of her, approaching, she recognized a Demon of Pride when she saw it, a behemoth with purple skin sparking with electricity, powerful limbs, and many eyes glaring down at her pitifully. She was too dazed to move, when a whip of lighting was summoned to its hand and flung towards her.

                There was a flash of gold, Kassandra armed with a glowing staff stood before, having stopped the strike from the Demon and staring up at it. She ran her spear off the edge of her staff and charged the creature, a flurry of golden attacks that seemed to enrage the demon. Sylva could only watch as Kassandra fought with the speed, strength and grace of Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt. The manner in which she, a mortal, a shem with not magic in her blood fought and contested with the demon was amazing to behold.

                With it was distracted, and Sylva knowing she wasn’t going to stay awake for much longer, raised her hand again towards the Breach, and let the energy flow again. This time, she didn’t pull away, she focused her intention of pulling the energy from the Breach, taking its power away and sealing it for good.

                The battle wasn’t going well, Kassandra was struck by a great sphere of lightning and sent flying back, unmoving on the snow, while the Seeker, Solas, Varric and the other soldiers converged on the demon. By the cries and screams, they weren’t doing well.

                More and more the Breach was pulling her in, draining her, weakening her, and still she didn’t relent. Even if this meant her life, she would stop this, not for the shems, not for her people, not even for herself, but simply because it had to be done.

                The demon advanced on the unmoving form of Kassandra, raising a whip of lightning once again to finish her off for good. A demon of Pride could not endure such insubordination to its existence.

                Her arm went numb, then her whole being, and with one final push of energy, she pulled her hand back, and as her body fell back to earth. As she fell, listless and her view of reality skewed, she watched as the Pride demon dissolved into green ash, and fade from existence. Kassandra still on the ground, put hopefully not dead. As she hit the ground, Sylva’s eyes closed as well, not a single ounce of energy remaining to keep them open.

                She had done what she needed, she could rest for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, Chapter two! 
> 
> Gonna be honest, didn't expect to get such a warm reception with this idea, but I'm happy I did. So, as a gesture of good faith and my own obsession, I finished this chapter rather quickly and here it is. Much too long for my taste, but hopefully enjoyable for you all. 
> 
> Full disclosure, as much as I love Dragon Age Inquistion, I really hate the opening battle for the Breach, so much exposition and characters thrown at you, and some clunky expositional writing to boot, yeah, not a fan. That said, some of its well-written so I included a few snippets, and aside from a few places, tried to make up my own dialogue for the characters, fanficition is a bit more fun when you give non-canon dialog to the characters, helps you integrate more and develop that voice. 
> 
> So, I'm going to be playing fast and loose with many elements of both games such as lore, character, canon elements, etc. In this case, Kassandra has completed her story the game gave, but with the caveate that her father's identity is never revealed, and its not that one guy. That was just stupid in my opinion, plus I like the idea of Kassandra's parentage being a mystery so she can claim some God as her papa (personal headcanon, Kassandra's father would be Hades) 
> 
> Also you notice the orb acting more like the inventory of the game? Yeah, intentional, just to add some more convenience to its use in this story. Kassandra has four sets of armor available to her, the Misthios gear, the standard look she has, mostly for casual/training fare. The Spartan War Hero set with a more standardized Corithian helmet with the crest, the armor of Odysseus, simply because I like the look of that asthetically, I imagine her carrying this out when they are on the road or exploring. Then a fusion of the Pilgrim robes and Athena's robes, basically Athena's bracers, greaves and hood, with the torso and belt of the Pilgrim set. Personal preference. 
> 
> If you have any questions, comments or suggestion, please list them below. I am genuinely touched by the interest this story has garnered and hope to continue to give good content going forward. 
> 
> Till next time,  
> DariusSobreitus


	3. The Inquisition

Sylva had many strange dreams as she slept, many without consequence or meaning, fading in and out of her mind like panting breaths after a run. Most of them were insignificant, others, were not so.

                More than a dozen spirits approached her as she slept, many were demons in disguise, drawn by the mark on her hand and wanting that power for their own.  However, just as many were spirits who seemed to guide her and offer advice. A spirit of Fortitude appeared as her Keeper, who encouraged her to remain strong in her convictions as she travelled the dream world.

                Last and most oddly, was a white wolf that seemed to follow her as she slept, never near nor threatening, but consistent in its watch of her. She would turn to look at it, but as soon as her eyes fixed on it, it would vanish into the fade’s ever-shifting background. The wolf felt familiar, and yet, distinctly strange, something that shouldn’t be there.

                When she did wake up, she felt an incredible thirst eat her at her throat, she shot up desperately, “Water!” She croaked.

                Large and calloused hands soon found her bare back and lifted a wooden cup to her lips, the water was cool and sweet as honey to her parched throat, gulping and inhaling the water as a drowning man would air. After the cup was drained, it was refilled and brought back to her, Sylva took shallow sips now, and looked around to see who was aiding her.

                The faint light of a candle and fire in a chimney revealed the outline of the human woman she had met last time she conscious. Kassandra of Adrestia, wherever that was.

                “Are you alright?” She asked, her voice slightly but richly accented was a kind sound to her ears.

                “I don’t know, let’s see,” Sylva sat up on her own, and her whole body ached in dull pain, she fell back to the bed she was lain upon. “Nope, not great.”

                Kassandra chuckled, “Well, you have your humor at least.”

                “To be fair, I’m very rarely without it,” Sylva said with slight snark. She tried to look around the room they were in, it was a far cry from the cells they were in, warm, comfortable, a nice little house she thought. “How long have I been out?”

                “Four days,” Kassandra said, she turned away towards the fire and fed it a few more logs. “From what they’ve said and what I understood, the burn on your hand has stopped expanding, no longer killing you, that fire in the sky has dulled, thanks to you. But we’re still here at their insistence, though they did give us better accommodations.”

                Sylva nodded, she looked down her body to see what her current state of dress was. The armor she had worn was gone, she only wore bandages over her breasts and her pants were different. She felt sudden panic, “Who changed me?”

                “I did,” Kassandra said casually. “I doubted you wanted them to, I’m sorry if it bothered you.”

                Sylva quickly checked inside her pants, seeing her undergarments had be changed as well, she swallowed, “I…suppose you have opinions on…likely what you saw?”

                Kassandra looked at her in confusion for a moment before realizing the implication with her loincloth partially revealed. “Oh! That,” She shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me if that’s what your worried about. I’ll admit to not having seen a woman with one, but I knew of a cult back home where men would cut off their cocks, dress and address themselves as women, in the eyes of their Goddess Cybele. You address yourself as a woman, yes?”

                Sylva, not quite following or believing what Kassandra was saying, simply nodded. “Good, let me know if I step out of bounds at any point.”

                “I..ah will,” Sylva said, shakily. Not quite sure how to take this information. “That’s oddly open-minded of you.”

                “Oh, are other people not?” Kassandra asked.

                Sylva shrugged, “Among the Dalish or even city elves? It’s common, accepted and respected. Among the shems, hit or miss really. Fereldan is open minded about it, Orlais has no real qualms, except how it affects you politically. Nevarra keeps it under lock and key most of the time, it varies in the Free Marches from city to city, Antiva and Rivain openly accept it, Tevinter…not so much,” She sighed wearily, “I haven’t had to worry about it within my clan, but now, among humans…I don’t know how most people will react.”

                Kassandra considered this for a moment, “I see,” She exhaled, “You would think people would worry less about how other people defines themselves and more about their own life and the like.”

                “Yeah well, people aren’t exactly noble, especially when their definitions of structure and identity are challenged,” Sylva said somewhat bitterly. She rubbed the back of her neck.

                “What time is it?” She asked.

                “Just past dawn, I would go out hunting, but they have guards out and I would rather not-“ The door opened just then, drawing their eyes to a young elf woman approaching, she looked to be a servant as she wore more traditionally shem clothing and seemed to be carrying a crate of clothes. Once she saw both women staring at her she gasped and dropped bundle.

                “Oh! You’re awake!” She said in shock, then looked down at the dropped bundle, “I’m sorry I-“

                “It’s alright!” Sylva assured, swinging her legs out of bed, even as it caused her whole body to erupt in an aching sore. Before she could help the girl pick up the clothes, she threw herself down in a bow.

                “Please forgive me!”

                Sylva nearly scoffed at the sight, one of her own people bowing before her? She shook her head and grabbed hold of her, lifting her to her feet. “Do not bow to me, Lethallan, just tell me what’s going on.”

                The girl’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull, but she spoke quickly to Sylva, “Your mark, you healed the sky! Stopped the demons and saved us! The people are talking about you, calling you the Herald of Andraste!” The girl was about to say more, but her eye widened again in realization. “The Seeker! Seeker Pentaghast wants to see you! To dress and head to the chantry! At once she said.”

                “Are they going to try and kill me there?” Sylva asked with some cynical humor.

                “No! Of course not!” The woman said. “You saved us, they want to speak with you, both of you. The Chantry at once she said!”

                The girl left in a sprint out the door, leaving Sylva and Kassandra alone again. Sylva bent down and picked up the clothing, a fine white shirt, with a hooded coat with it, she looked to the other woman in the room. “Any idea what she was talking about?” She asked.

                Kassandra shook her head, “They haven’t told me anything, and they won’t let me leave so I haven’t been able to eavesdrop on anything either.”

                Sylva nodded, putting on the shirt and robe, “Well, guess we go face the music. Join me?”

                Kassandra smiled and nodded, “If anything attacks, get behind me.”

                The two nodded and pushed out of the door. For a moment they were blinded by the light, the sun shining brightly right at them, the snow making it even more glaring to them. When their eyes adjusted, the sight before them made them stop.

                In two rows were soldiers, fully armed and armored, their faces hidden behind visors as they seemed to form a wall between them and even more people. Peasants, civilians, militia, farmhands, all sorts of them, all whispering and speaking animatedly as they looked at the two of them. The soldiers were dead silent, the whispers felt like an eerie wind to both of them, but Sylva, not one to turn from adversity, took a step forward, another, and another, making her way down the two lines of soldiers. Kassandra following close behind.

                The soldiers formed a passage that led them through the village, one they recognized as the place that she and Kassandra had been dragged through after being interrogated. Before, there had been heated whispers, angry looks, and some people looking ready to kill here then and there. Now however, there was only reserved silence, quiet contemplation, and respectful looks from the people. It was as if the events before were a nightmare and this was the dream. An odd dream to be sure, but certainly better than the nightmare.

                Sylva shared a look with Kassandra, who shrugged her shoulders, she looked as uncomfortable as felt, though in the elf’s mind, she probably would just intimidate anyone who gave her a threatening look.

                The pair followed the guarded path to the Chantry, the biggest and emptiest building in the whole village, the sight of it didn’t ease Sylva’s mind or hammering heart, especially not the eyes of the soldiers and civilians following them. As they neared the Chantry the sisters gathered began to speak in hushed whispers about them, even with Sylva’s hearing, she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying over the sound of blood rushing through her ears. Something about “divinely chosen” and something of Andraste. More than once, someone referred to her a Herald.

                They arrived at the doors of the Chantry, the whole village having slowly followed them to the doors. Kassandra, not waiting for permission, opened the doors of the Chantry and ushered Sylva in before shutting the doors on the followers. The inside of the building was as Sylva suspected, barren, no one in the wings, no one to guide them, just a warm building bereft of people. Most of them were likely outside gawking at the doors that had just closed on them.

                “Are you alright?” Kassandra’s whisper was as loud as a shout, Sylva gave her a wane smile.

                “I don’t do well with crowds, especially not when they’re humans and all looking at me,” She admitted freely. “Not that I have much experience with them.”

Kassandra nodded, “Well, if you need me to, I can probably scare them off next time.”

                “Let’s see what they give us.”

                They didn’t have to guess where they were summoned to, the voices of argument drew them to the door at the end of the hall. The two looked to each other before opening the door, within was the Seeker, the other Cassandra, the redheaded woman from before, Leliana, the old man who had been vehement at taking the two of them prisoner, Rodrick, and two armored Templars at the door.

                Rodrick didn’t hesitate long to point towards them, “Chain them, I want them sent to the capital for trial.”

                “Disregard that,” Came Cassandra’s steel voice. “Leave us.”

                It was clear who held the greater sway of power, as the Templars promptly bowed and left the room, Sylva let out an exhale she didn’t know she was holding.

                The Chancellor turned on the Seeker, “What are you doing, Seeker?”

                “What is necessary, Chancellor,” She said. “The Breach may be sealed, but it still remains, and until it’s gone, I will not let anyone take away the one person who can properly seal it.”

                “We can’t seal rifts across Thedas if you execute the only one who can seal them,” Leliana spoke.

                Rodrick scowled, “And yet you don’t think it odd that the one person who survived the conclave has the power to seal the rifts and Breach? What of her friend? A warrior beyond mortal capabilities who slays demons that our Templars had trouble fighting?”

                There was a look between the Seeker and Leliana, something passed through their eyes.

                “You’re welcome,” Kassandra said with fire, staring daggers at the Chancellor. “Without Sylva we’d still have those things pouring over the valley, she woke up an hour ago and the first thing you want to do is bind her in chains?”

                Sylva put a calming hand on Kassandra’s shoulder, “Look, I can tell you this. My duty and responsibility is to my clan, attacking and killing your holy heads isn’t in our best interest, so the death of the Divine is not something I’d fathom or even orchestrate. Besides, I sealed your fucking Breach, took care of your problem and it nearly killed me. So, excuse me if I ask you to kindly shut your mouth before one of us sews it closed.”

                The Seeker snorted and Leliana smirked, Rodrick went pale.

                “We were at the temple, we heard the voices of Most Holy calling to her for help, and something else there.”

                “Someone who caused the explosion and the Divine’s death,” Leliana supplied. “We need to focus on the threat they might possess, even if they were killed as well, any agents they have may still live.”

                “We’ve no time for trials, elections or executions,” Cassandra said. “Our goal is to restore order, and it can’t wait.”

                “You have no authority, Seeker,” Rodrick said. “Nothing that can possibly supersede-“

                Cassandra produced a large tome and set it on the table before them, “This is the writ of Divine Justinia, the one given to us in the event that the conclave failed, to form the Inquisition.”

                At the word, Rodrick stepped back in shock. “You’d-you’d rebel against the Chantry? For what? For them?” He asked, pointing towards Kassandra and Sylva.

                “To protect the people who are sure to suffer from this chaos!” Cassandra snapped back. “Templars and Mages are roaming Feraldan, killing and plundering as they please, and now we have rifts reported across all of Southern Thedas, spewing demons as well. The Chantry will sit and wait for a Divine to solve these problems, we will solve it now, before it is too late.”

                Rodrick looked between the two women in rage, before turning and stomping from the room.

                “That went well,” Sylva said.

                The Seeker sighed, “It is good to see you awake. I assume you are informed?”

                “The Breach is…not sealed but stable? People gawking at us instead of glaring, and now you’re planning to rebel against the Chantry?”

                “More or less,” Leliana said without humor. “Do you know of the Inquisition of old?”

                Sylva frowned in thought, “The precedent for the Templars, right? Predates the Chantry as well?”

                “Correct, the Templars were the old Inquisition, but with time and the corruption it brings, it no longer serves its purpose as it should,” Cassandra gestured towards the book. “We intend to fulfill that purpose, to stop the chaos, find out who killed the Divine and bring her killers to justice.”

                Sylva took it all in, “Alright, sounds valiant and all that, where do I come in?”

                “You have the mark that can seal the Breach and rifts that have sprung up all over Southern Thedas, with it, we can seal them, and at the very least stop the flow of demons coming through,” Leliana said. “You are a survivor of the Conclave, and as it seems, you were there when Justinia was killed. You have a stake in this.”

                The elf didn’t know how to take that, “Right, do I have a choice in the matter?”

                “You do,” Cassandra said. “Though it’s not much. Regardless of your intents, getting involved has made you enemies, between many of the Clerics who have already left spreading word of your supposed involvement in Most Holy’s death, as well as your standing as, by Chantry decree, an Apostate, there are more than a few who will seek retribution against your or your clan. We can guarantee your safety, as well as your clan’s, but only so long as you remain with and act under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition. Only then can we protect you and your people.”

                Sylva raised an eyebrow, “That’s…surprisingly generous of you,” She said sincerely. “Can you promise me my clan will be safe?”

                “We cannot,” Cassandra said. “But we will have agents contact them and if anything comes towards them, we will do our best to protect them.”

                The elvhen mage considered, this was the best deal she could get, she wasn’t sure how religious or militant this Inquisition was going to be, but if allying with them kept her people safe, safer than her leaving them anyways, then she would stay. Besides, someone had killed the Divine, and even if Sylva didn’t have a stake in Chantry politics, no one would frame her or her clan. Not if she found them before they could. She didn’t like being framed.

                “Alright, I’m in,” Sylva said, the Seeker approached her and shook her hand firmly. Then looked to the other in the room.

                “And you?” The Seeker asked.

                Kassandra had been quiet this whole time, staring at the map on the table before them, with words, countries and landmasses she didn’t recognize. She had caught the overview of what was discussed, but her greatest focus was on the fact that she couldn’t see Hellas on the map. No Sparta, no Athens, not even little Kephallonia, none of them were on the map. Something Kassandra hadn’t felt for a long while begin to seep into her stomach, her chest, and her spine. Fear, a true fear that she had ignored in the heat of battle. That she might not be able to go home, that she was too far from it.

                “Kassandra?” Sylva asked, her dark green eyes looked up at her brown in concern. The Misthios looked between her and the map, considering her options. If the worst was true, and she couldn’t go home, then she would have to stay and find a means to survive. Otherwise, she could bide her time and see if there was a more complete map they could look at.

                “Do you have a need for a Mercenary?” Kassandra asked.

                Leliana chuckled, “At this point, we need anyone who can use a sword. If you require gold for your services, you will be paid well.”

                “As long as you do as we say,” The Seeker said firmly. Kassandra looked down at Sylva, and a recognition of two kindred souls passed between them. Both smirked.

                “I’ll join you, with the spoils involved, so long as I answer directly to her,” Kassandra gestured to Sylva. “She will be my charge after all.”

                A dark eyebrow rose at the comment, “You intend to be her bodyguard?” The Seeker asked.

                “Unless she disagrees,” Kassandra said.

                “And I don’t.”

                The other Cassandra smirked, “So long as you don’t try running off recklessly,” The Seeker circled the table and offered her hand. “Welcome, Kassandra of Adrestia.”

                Kassandra took it, “Thank you, Cass Pentaghast.” The Seeker’s grip tightened as an amused chuckle left both Leliana and Sylva. “It’ll make things simpler. I can still call you Seeker if you would prefer.”

                “Cass is…fine, for now. I only ask you do not address me so casually in front of more…formal delegates.”

                “I’ll resort to Seeker or Pentaghast then.”

                “Very well,” The Seeker released her hand. “For now, get some rest, we need to start sending messages and organize. You’re free to roam the village, let me know if you have any problems.”

                The two nodded and left the room, each sighing heavily and walking a short distance from the door. That was until Sylva started laughing hysterically, “Cass Pentaghast!?”

                Kassandra chuckled, “She asked for terms, mine were that I keep my name and she gets the shorter one!”

                Sylva and Kassandra walked down the despondent halls of the Chantry in mirthful spirit, a rare sight of calm and levity in the grimness they had endured. They stopped just before the Chantry door. “Did you mean it?” Sylva asked.

                “Which part?”

                “Doing what I say?” Sylva asked impishly.

                “Of course,” Kassandra said. “So long as I get paid, I’m your woman. I am not a slave however, so don’t expect me to do your every bidding as such.”

                “Perish the thought,” Sylva said soberly, she put a hand on Kassandra’s arm. “I haven’t said it yet, but I appreciate all you’ve done so far. You’ve…done more to help me than most people I’ve known, especially humans. There’s no one I know of, not even among my own clan that I’d rather have at my side.

                Kassandra was floored by the praise, very rarely was it that she got gratitude for her deeds and tasks, even less often was she paid. Something about Sylva had made her stand out to the Misthios since they first met, a kinship that she had shared with Barnabas, and even Brasidas, but it went deeper as well. They had only met five days before, and already they had a devoted trust between them, two strangers in equally strange lands and times, it seemed to be appropriate.

                “I-I’ll do my best,” Kassandra smiled, Sylva returned it, the Misthios had to turn away to hide her blush before pushing open the doors.

                The sunlight was bright but welcoming to them both, the crowds had parted leaving them alone in the sun as the village set about its business.

                Sylva shivered, “Best we settle in, we’re going to be here awhile.”

                Kassandra didn’t reply, looking up at the sky. “It can’t be,” She murmured.

                “What is it?” Sylva asked, worried about the Breach or even demons, but she couldn’t make anything out in the bright sky.

                “It is!” Kassandra said, taking off at a dead run down the steps towards the outskirts of the village, surprised, Sylva followed, trying to catch up to the long-legged human woman.

                She was fast, that was certain, in a matter of minutes she had run out of the village towards the frozen lake across the road. Sylva, likely due to her previous injuries, was slower to follow, her aches slowing her to a jog until she too exited Haven and looked to see what Kassandra was doing. The mercenary held up her arm and whistled shrilly, from the sky a small, dark shape came straight for her at alarming speed. The elf nearly raised her hands to blast it from the sky, but before she could it spread its wings and delicately landed on Kassandra’s arm. An eagle.

                Kassandra delicately embraced the bird, stroking the back of it head, smiling happily, “I thought I had lost you, old friend.”

                The eagle happily and playfully nibbled at her fingers, obviously happy to be reunited once more.

                “Friend of yours?” Sylva asked. Kassandra turned to her with a broad smile on her face.

                “Where I’m from, they call me the Eagle-Bearer, and he’s the reason for it,” She turned fully presenting the eagle to Sylva, “Ikaros, Sylva. Sylva, my lifelong companion, Ikaros.”

                Sylva smiled, “A pleasure, I’m sure.” Tentatively approaching, the Eagle watched her with sharp eyes, but let her hand ghost over his head and pet him.

                “He came with you?”

                Kassandra nodded, “Stubborn bird flew into sea and the fade after me. Takes after me, I suppose.”

                “Two of a kind,” Sylva smiled. “Come one, let’s get him someplace warmer.”

               

                The weeks passed in rapid succession for Kassandra, so quickly that the first several days seemed like a slow and calm night in comparison. Perhaps it had to do with the Inquisition being started, people flooding in to either settle in the Chantry or take up arms and armor, training under that man, Cullen. It had been hectic as several people had come up to her or Sylva as they inspected the landscape, received new gear and overall just minded their own devices. They asked many questions and suggested things that were news to them both, including Sylva being this so-called Herald of Andraste, and Kassandra being her…Disciple, Guardian or General of this Andraste. Kassandra doubted she could be the guardian of a woman who was long gone.

                While in Haven, Kassandra had taken time to visit the library in the Chantry, reading and learning all she could about the world she was in. If she was to stay, she had to understand where she was, having never been so far from a place she at least knew of in passing. Thankfully, the staff not only translated, but absorbed the information she encountered, and in turn, to her. Based on the books they had and the very many hours she spent pouring over the most detailed of them, she had deciphered enough information of the land to know most of what was where and who was who.

                This Chantry for instance was a strange cult who worshipped one God, referred to as the Maker, as well as his bride, Andraste, a woman who was killed treacherously in rebelling against an Empire, Tevinter, an Empire that still existed. There was the order of Templars, a militant branch of the Chantry dedicated to guarding and even executing Mages, as well as Demons. Mages themselves seemed to be frowned upon and regarded as dangerous in this land, having abilities that could kill ordinary people easily, and even able to be possessed by Demons and able to wreck even more havoc and destruction across the land.

                Kassandra could understand this fear from a peaceful nation stance, but she only wondered why the Mages didn’t rebel sooner? Form their own country, conquer and defend against anyone who challenged them. Perhaps the abilities of the Templars were understated, or perhaps none had ever thought to try.

                Much of Andraste’s life and deeds read like one of Homer’s poems, grand, epic, but fantastical. Summoning armies out of nothing, uniting people as if some beacon of hope before driving the Empire of Tevinter all the way to the heart of their lands before being betrayed? All because one man didn’t like the idea of a God loving his wife? It hadn’t stopped the heroes of her home, but it still rang of fantasy. Kassandra had seen firsthand how the Gods worked in the shadows, never directly. There may have been an Andraste, and she may have been an influential and powerful leader, but to say she was the Bride of the Maker was likely used to explain how successful and influential she was, rather than say it was of her own skill. The Eagle Bearer could imagine people saying the same of her one day, that she was skilled and successful less because of her own abilities and person, but because of her bloodline, and whichever God seemed to fit the criteria as her father. It wasn’t unwarranted, but even without her bloodline and her spear, Kassandra knew she was more than her parentage, more than her weapons.

                Kassandra sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes, the Chantry was a good, quiet space to read, but it was also empty, dark and stuffy. Smelling of burning candles and incense that made her nose itch. She stood up, cracking her back and towards the door, hoping to get some fresh air and exercise.

                As she made towards the door, she bumped into a woman who had been walking through a nearby door, looking down at a board with a candle on it, reading as she walked. She let out a short squeal and nearly fell to the floor, holding her board for dear life. The Misthios grasped her across the back and kept her from falling. Kassandra, standing over the young woman, got a good look at her. Dark hair in a tidy bun, rich clothes of gold and violet, and a round, dark face with a curved nose, with dark eyes looking up at Kassandra’s in amazement.

                Kassandra smirked, “Chaire.”

                “Oh, uh, hello,” She said breathlessly. Kassandra pulled her back to her feet, realizing what had just happened the woman was flustered. “I am so sorry, I should really have looked where I was going.”

                “Me as well,” Kassandra said graciously, still smiling at the woman warmly. Said woman looked Kassandra up and down unsubtly and let out a nervous laugh.

                “And you are?”

                “Kassandra,” She said easily.

                “Oh! The Guardian of Andraste? Or was it Champion?” The woman considered before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, they told me of you I just didn’t expect…you.”

                “So they tell me,” The Misthios said, “And you are?”

                “Oh, where are my manners, I am Josephine Montiliyet, the official Ambassador of the Inquisition,” She stepped away to curtsey. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Kassandra.”

                “The pleasure is mine,” Kassandra dipped, taking Josephine’s hand and kissing her knuckles gently. It was some ritual among a court in Antiva, she believed, as far she understood however, it was a good greeting, or was said to be.

                When the Eagle Bearer stood up, she raised an eyebrow at Josephine’s blushing face, she laughed bashfully, “Well, they failed to mention charm as one of your…assets.”

                The Ambassador fanned herself, “I-I must speak with other others, please come with the Herald when most convenient.”

                The Ambassador bowed her head and made for the door of the war council, leaving Kassandra to stare after her shapely backside. She shook her head, turning away, only a few weeks from home and she was already in want of companionship. Thankfully, there were plenty of people around, more than a few would be enthusiastic about spending the night with her.

                As she left the building, Kassandra sighed in relief as the cold did not bother her, she wore her Mithios armor, a simple breastplate with greaves and bracers, she had been given a red runic and dark pants to cover her legs and arms from the cold. It had taken some adjustment. Now though, while she missed the sea and the warmth it had brought her, she enjoyed the cold for its own wonders, especially snow.

                Just as she left the Chantry, a certain elf approached.

                “Good day, Kassandra,” Solas said pleasantly. Kassandra nodded to him.

                “Chaire, Solas,” She replied equally as politely.

                “Would you mind walking with me?” He asked.

                “Lead the way,” She said, wanting to spend time outside anyways, this seemed a good distraction.

                Solas nodded and led her from the village, they walked the road into the forest outside of haven, a fresh breeze came through, making Kassandra long for the spray of sea that would not come, she sighed lowly, but followed the Apostate further into the woods. Solas led her to a hill overlooking the lake and Haven in the near distance.

                “I assume you wanted to speak?” Kassandra asked.

                Solas nodded, “I wanted to know about your staff, the one you used to seal a rift. With your permission of course.”

                Kassandra searched his eyes, in them she found genuine curiosity and given his care to take them away from everyone else, not even bringing his own staff, she could assume he didn’t have an intent to steal it or attack her. If he did, she still had her spear and sword at her side. Mage or no, one good strike would do.

                The Mithios pulled the orb from her belt, it glowed, then formed into a staff in hand. Solas’ eyes drunk in the staff, staring at it mesmerized. “Amazing, it is made of material I have never seen before, with a power that is beyond simple magic,” He reached for it with his hand, before stopping. “May I?”

                Kassandra shook her head, “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to take it. It…cannot be removed from my grasp unless I pass it on to another.”

                Solas frowned softly, “You are…bound to it?”

                “In a manner of speaking,” Kassandra said, the staff melted into an orb and returned to her belt. “I was given it, and with it a responsibility.”

                Solas nodded, “I see, what responsibility, if I may ask?”

                Kassandra sighed, “What is your interest, Solas? And why didn’t you tell Cass or Leliana about what you saw?”

                Caught off guard, Solas straightened, “I apologize, my curiosity overcame my manner,” He cleared his throat. “Simply, I assumed you didn’t want the attention on you. I mistook the abilities you had with the staff to make you a Mage, however, after seeing this staff of yours, I believe you are not.”

                He paced on the hill in thought, “As for your fair question regarding my interest, I simply want to know how this staff works. The best I could do against the rifts were to stall their expansion, slow the angered Spirits coming through, and save lives. Then you come, and despite not bearing the mark Sylva does, you closed it with your staff. The more we have at hand to combat the rifts and the Breach, the better off we are. The more we understand, the more we can plan with.”

                Solas’ thoughts were sound and reasonable to her, all suspicion she had dropped at that moment.

                “I do not know if I should tell you all of it, yet,” Kassandra said. “It’s a complicated web of a story, the best I can tell you, is that this staff I carry has power and strength worthy of Gods, and it is my task to bear it and carry it, so others might not use it in their own manner.”

                “In what manner do you speak of?”

                Kassandra sighed, “This staff has incredible power, more than use in combat or against rifts, it stores knowledge, one touch can let you understand everything it has collected in a moment. It will drive weaker minds to madness, and other to ambitions of power. In the wrong hands, this staff could be used to enslave an Empire.”

                The words had a prominent effect on Solas who stepped back as if burned, he searched for Kasssandra for sincerity, and seeing the steely expression on her face he believed her. “Such power shouldn’t be held by anyone.”

                The Misthios shook her head, “Perhaps, I’ve never wanted to use it myself. But against these demons we’ve faced, I find my need for it growing, especially when it can be used to seal rifts.”

                “It took a toll on you though,” Solas said. “I noticed; you nearly fell to your knees from the strain. No matter the power of it, its not meant to seal rifts, and when used in that fashion, it has an adverse effect on the wielder.”

                Kassandra frowned at that, wondering what would have happened has she used it against the Breach, would she have been killed then and there? Or would she have been in the state Sylva was in? Too many questions, too many unknowns.

                “Where are you from, Kassandra?” Solas suddenly asked.

                “What do you mean?”

                “You use words, wield armor and carry yourself unlike anyone I have known in this life or in the memories of the fade. No enchanted weapon I know of in history or myth matches the power and versatility of your staff and spear. And, as far as I know, there is no place called Adrestia in our world.”

                The calm of his words sparked a storm in Kassandra, she had been asked at length about her origin, where she was from, but when looked at the maps, there was nothing to indicate her home. The others had simply decided she from another part of the world undiscovered, that she was far from a home that simply wasn’t known to them. But the Misthios had her doubts, Magic existed here, different peoples like elves, dwarves and a race called the Qunari existed, but not where she was from. It spoke of one thing that mattered to her, wherever she was, she too far from home to know how to get back. If she ever could.

                “The Adrestia was my ship,” Kassandra explained, not for the first time. “The land I was from, was called Hellas, we weren’t a united country, but we shared the same language, and most of the same gods. No Magic existed there, only cheap tricks and ancient artifacts. There were no elves, dwarves or Qunari there, and certainly no demons. Just people who warred against other people.”

                “I see,” Solas said thoughtfully. “We are more alike than I considered.”

                Kassandra frowned, “What do you-?”

                “KASSANDRA!” A shout turned them around to see Sylva at the bottom of the hill. “Come on! We have to meet the council!”

                “I’ll be down shortly!” Kassandra shouted back, having forgotten what the Ambassador had told her.

She turned to speak to Solas, to ask what he had meant, but he was already half-way down the hill, walking away. The Misthios turned back towards Sylva, making her way down the hill. All the while wondering what Solas had meant, they would have to speak later. Something was different about Solas, his manner, how he carried himself, even the way he looked at others, he seemed as out of place as Kassandra was, and she wondered why that was.

She turned down to hill towards Sylva, and from there, their first task as members of the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes here, I refer to Greece as Hellas from Kassandra's point of view, as that is how the Greek refer to their country historically as the "land of the Helenes," or those who spoke hellenistic which is Greek language and culture. Greece itself comes from the latin word Grecia, and even if in Odyssey they refer to Greece as Greece, I'm a bit stringy on that given the latin roots for the name. So Kassandra refers to Greece as Hellas in this story. 
> 
> This chapter was going to be shorter, but I'm aiming for chapter lengths of 5k-6k words, not too long, not too short. Key scenes in the game will probably be longer chapters, but hopefully we'll have more manageable lengths for me. I will also try and gloss over a lot of the minute plot points, as I'm sure we know them and I don't think its important to go over all of them or in their canon order. Speaking of, I will probably be breaking some lore and story canon in Inquisition for this piece, so be aware of that. 
> 
> Full disclosure, Josephine, Blackwall and Cassandra are my favorite and most romanced characters, so I'll probably be paying a lot of tribute to them in coming chapters, I will set it so Kassandra and Sylva bang pretty much everyone, save for Dorian, Solas, Vivienne and Cole, but I may focus on those three's romantic stories more often. Just a little disclaimer. 
> 
> Leave a comment with your thoughts, questions or suggestion.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~DariusSobreitus


	4. Duty or Desperation

The Hinterlands stood before them, the valley filled with refugees, haggard, hungry and cold. Flames from battle littered the grounds and some trees, the smoke itself present and suffocating all at once. The bodies of refugees, Mages and Templars still littered the ground, upon her sword was the blood of the latter two. Kassandra recalled such scenes all to familiar, refugees fleeing two opposing sides who cared not for who stood in their way.

                Burnt flesh was the worse smell Kassandra could recall, and here it was in full force. A hand found its way to her shoulder, “Are you alright?” The Seeker asked.

                Kassandra nodded, swallowing and attempting to find her voice. Cass followed her gaze and immediately understood, “It never is easy to see, is it? The devastation, the destitute?”

                “The slaughter,” Kassandra said hollowly. Inhaling through her nose, breathing in the burning flesh again. “I’ve fought my whole life to survive, but when I finally have the means to fight to live, I see wars and death across lands that only a century before united to fight off an invading Empire. I wonder if it will ever end.”

                The Seeker nodded, “I have lived my life with the Chantry, and I used to believe I fought for a higher purpose, a good reason to give and take life. At least I thought so.”

                Kassandra observed the other woman; her hard features were soft as her eyes stared distantly. “What changed?”

                Cass smirked, “The Chanty divides what it thinks on very clear lines, that those within its orders and conduct are virtuous and righteous, and those not in the Maker’s Light are heretical and misguided,” She gripped the hilt of her blade tightly, “Yet, I have seen Apostates with more conscience than Revered Mothers who have given their entire lives to the Maker. Dalish who struggle to survive on their own and merely want to live without threat, and Templars, anointed and hailed as the best of the Maker’s children, in turn being the most corrupt and despotic people to breathe the air.”

                Cass inhaled, “I have to question the rightness of my own actions, for you and the Herald, I nearly took your heads from your bodies, so sure I was that you were responsible for what lay before me. The answer was so clear to me,” She cast a sidelong look at Kassandra. “And yet I misjudged you both, did I not?”

                “Maybe you did,” Kassandra said. “But you were willing to take chances on us, when no one else was.”

                “I suppose that’s true,” Cass said.

                The two warriors looked up to see Sylva approached, having just spoken with Mother Giselle, one of the few Chantry authorities presiding over the refugees in the area. She wore a look of frustration on her face, as well as exasperation.

                “Well?” Cass asked.

                “According to Mother Giselle, I should make my way to Orlais and account myself before them. To assure them I mean no ill-will and that I merely serve the Chantry’s best intentions.” Sylva’s speech was stilted and painfully controlled.

                “Sounds like Blondie every time he talked to Princeling,” Varric said as he walked up. “Or Broody. So, I can guess it’s not good.”

                “Ah yes, lets send a Dalish Mage into the Capital to kneel, kiss and lick any Orlesian boot and ass that needs it,” Sylva derided. “Last thing I fucking need is to put myself in any position that exonerates the Chantry.”

                The Seeker frowned, but said nothing to defend, Kassandra could only sigh. _It’s bad enough that she’s forced to adorn herself as a Herald of a religion that has done her people harm. But to bow before them and humble herself as a servant? I know my pride would be too much for that._

                “What are we to do Seeker?” Solas asked. “There is much to be done here, and I doubt the council will want a hasty move made?”

                “Indeed,” Cass agreed. “I will send word to the Inquisitions heads, from there we will formulate a plan.” She turned to observe the valley; her amber eyes steely. “Until then, there is work to be done. Both the rogue Templars and Apostates are active in the area, rifts are prominent, and bandits extort those who survive.”

                Kassandra wiped off her sword, donning her helmet, “Then let’s get going.”

               

                They had walked but an hour before finding the Templar encampment, four men in full armor and silk robes stood up as the group of four approached. They stood to their feet, weapons at the ready.

                “Who goes there?” One asked.

                “I am Seeker Cassandra Penaghast, Right Hand of the Divine,” She said imperiously, hand on hilt and ready to draw. “I order you to leave the Hinterlands and return to the Templar stronghold in Therinfall until further orders from the Lord Seeker.”

                One of the Templars snorted ungraciously, “Divine’s dead,” He said. “And yer fancy title means little to me.”

                “We’ve rebelled! No longer do we follow the wiles of the Chantry! Those who treated us like dogs to be used then slain on a whim! We will no longer follow their codes; we will do what is best for ourselves!” Another dramatically proclaimed.

                “Oh, is it fighting Bandits then? Helping refugees? Or is it posturing and reveling in your newfound freedom in sadism and madness?” Sylva spoke up, the Templars turning to see her, and the other elf for the first time, noting the staffs on their backs.

                “Apostates!” One declared, going for his weapon.

                Cass stepped in front of them, “Under my charge, hold your blade.”

                The Seeker observed, “I am giving you a chance here, either lay down your weapons and submit yourselves to the Inquisition, from there you may join our ranks or return to Therinfal, otherwise, we will be forced to fight you.”

                “That’s not gonna go well,” Varric muttered.

                The Templars looked between each other, nodding resolutely, and drew their weapons. “We won’t go back, and seeing as your harboring Mages, I wonder who’s really forgotten their duty, Seeker?”

                The Seeker drew her sword, glaring at the soldiers. With a resigned sigh, she looked beyond them and nodded.

                The Templars looked at her in confusion before a scream behind them alerted them to what was happening, they turned to see Kassandra pull her short spear from the furthest man in their group. She pushed his corpse to the ground and looked at them.

                “Who’s next?”

                The leading Templar turned to her, the other two facing the group. The lead charged Kassandra, his shield before him to smash into her and send her to the ground. The Misthios sidestepped him, his full armored form rushing by her without making contact. As he passed, Kassandra stabbed him in the back of the neck with her spear, the plate, chain and leather offering no resistance to her weapon.

                Finishing him, she looked to see another Templar fall, an arrow in his chest with Cass’s sword in his neck, and the other frozen to the ground, with the blade end of Sylva’s staff in his neck. The five looked around the make sure the area was secured, then Cass wiped off her blade.

                “According to the map we’ve found, the camp should be just ahead,” The Seeker said, looking to Kassandra, “Good work.”

                “We’re not done yet,” Kassandra said, falling in line with the rest of the group.

                Varric fell into step beside her, “Somehow, the idea of six-foot armored woman not being seen by four battle-wary Templars would be one of the most unlikely things I’ve seen. Granted, I haven’t seen a Qunari try that yet, so maybe I’ll save it for that example.”

                “They should’ve listened,” Cass said angrily. “Why didn’t they?”

                “Freedom can be as tempting an invitation for corruption as an unjust tyrant,” Solas said. “Even the best are led astray by freedom from shackles.”

                “So it seems,” Cass said.

                They walked but a few minutes before spotting the banners and guarding soldiers in the near distance. Two soldiers guarding a trail up a hill. They knew it to be the Templar’s main camp, and from the description of the letters, it wasn’t something they wanted to attack in haste.

                “We cannot charge that camp,” The Seeker said. “Archers will pick us off before their soldiers do. And for all we know, there could be forty Templars waiting for us.”

                “I don’t like those odds,” Varric said.

                “Even with Solas and I, I doubt we’d cut into them much,” Sylva said.

                The Seeker shook her head, “We don’t have enough troops or even agents to take them in a pitched battle. We go in, we get cut down as we charge.”

                “Then we should bring them to us,” Kassandra said.

                The group turned to her, “What do you suggest?”

                Kassandra gave them a dangerous smile, “Firstly, we wait until dark.”

 

                The camp was silent at that time of night, Templars from all over the south congregating there, most were native to Ferelden, but at least a few were from Orlais or the Free Marches, and all of them were sick of the Chantry. If it wasn’t enough that the revolt in Kirkwall had ousted the Templar order there, but the fact that many in the hierarchy argued for the liberation of Mages, something they said was long overdue.

                For former Knight-Captain Ardale, it was complete and utter shit.

                Templars had fought and died for the Chantry for centuries, putting their lives at the front at the behest of thousands, protecting them from the threats of corrupt power-drunk Mages, or worse, those who made bargains with Demons and became possessed. And still, they suffered further. Lyrium addiction was a quiet unspoken problem within the Templar ranks, if Templars made past sixty with their minds still intact, it was nothing short of a Maker’s miracle.

                Ardale stood up, rolling his shoulders as he strolled about the camp, he had been in Denerim when the rebellion began and shortly thereafter made his way from group to group trying to find cohesion in the madness. It hadn’t been found, and whispers of rebellion from the Templar order spread, Ardale had found what brothers he could and secluded themselves in the Hinterlands.

                His initial goal had been following the Apostates, not content to let them wander free of harassment. The Templar’s duty was to keep Mages in check, and if the Chantry wouldn’t appreciate them for it, then he would make sure these men and women served with distinction and honor. No Mage could exist outside their circle, and if it cost them respect and their lives to uphold their duty, then he would do.

                Night had fallen and most of the Templars were asleep, save for those on night watch and those battling their withdrawals of Lyrium. Far from any supply lines of the Lyrium, many of these soldiers were suffering the withdrawals, it also meant their ability to combat magic was minimal at best. The best they could do was not get struck by flame, ice or become enthralled by blood magic. Ironic that the one thing that burdened their lives in the long term was what kept them alive in the short.

                Ardale rubbed a hand through his greying hair, at forty years old, he was starting to fade past his prime, but still could hold a sword and lead.

                The situation had grown more desperate in the last few days, agents of this newly-formed Inquisition formed, made up of ex-Templars and others who had turned their back on the Chantry, from what his scouts had reported and the alarming among of his missing men, they were heading for them. Though according to the same scouts, they didn’t have more than two hundred soldiers in the whole area, and most of them were feeding the refugees and organizing the area.

                It was worrying news, a ‘Herald’ was among them, a Mage with the power to seal rifts, and an elf at that. While concerning, Ardale wouldn’t be led astray. While the Apostates in the valley were scattered and weak now, their task wasn’t done. He and his men had overwhelmed their camp a day before, with stragglers making contact throughout in revenge. They were no longer a threat. All that was left were the Rebel Mages in Redcliffe, and they were mostly children and senile Enchanters, they wouldn’t be hard to deal with.

                At dawn, they’d muster and counter the Inquisition, take out their camps and route them from the valley. If they weren’t with them, they were against them.

                After that, he’d take his brothers and sisters, and find a nice quiet place to settle as the withdrawals grew worse. While his own symptoms were benign at the moment, they were sure to get worse, and while this hadn’t been his first thought of retirement, he had seen the desperation in these Brothers and Sisters of the Chant, they needed someone to lead them, guide them, keep them from destroying their souls before the Maker. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been successful, many of his brethren had done that. Attacking civilians, pillaging farms and homes for loot and food against his orders. Some were ranckled and lost to reason as the Lyrium drove them to fits of rage and need, others were drunk on the freedom from the Chantry and felt they could do anything.

                Even if they had left the Order, Ardale wouldn’t let these Templars become monsters, they were still people, people who suffered, but those with tasks ahead of them. Once the Mages were defeated and the valley was brought to peace, they would lay down their sword and armor, effectively done with their former lives.

                Ardale made his way to the edge of camp, going towards Gerit, one of the soldiers on duty. “See anything?”

                The man turned, “No Knight-Captain, all quiet. Even the bears are scarce.”

                Ardale nodded, “Good, keep it up,” He turned to leave.

                “Ser?” Ardale turned towards Gerit, “Yarwood was supposed to report to me half an hour ago, I figured he forgot, but he hasn’t been relieved yet.”

                The Knight Captain nodded, “I’ll check him.”

                Ardale turned towards the eastern side of camp, the side facing downhill. Standing at attention at the gate was their man, Yarwood was a disgruntled Templar, older than himself, and suffering heavily from his Lyrium withdrawals, prone to confusion and temper flares. Despite that, he was staunch and unyielding to the call of Lyrium, and likely was suffering from it now.

                “Yarwood,” Ardale greeted. “Gerit told me you’re to report to him?”

                Yarwood didn’t reply, Ardale noticed he was leaning against the post. _Must’ve fallen asleep, poor man._ He thought.

                Ardale approached and patted him on the shoulder, “Wake up, Yarwood, we need you to-“

                Yarwood crumpled to the ground like a falling tree. The Knight Captain was instantly at attention. “Yar? What’s wrong? Are you-?”

                Ardale turned him over, Yarwood stared up with blank eyes, blood staining his mouth and beard, the wound under his right armpit had blended into the red of his cloak.

                Instincts taking over, Ardale immediately stood and drew his greatsword.

                “To arms! We’re under-!”

                Before he could finish, he turned to see the western and south ends of camp set alight with fire, with panicked soldiers roused and hastily arming and fleeing their tents. Ardale, taken completely by surprised was unsure of what to do, these flames had to have been conjured in the moments after he left Gerit, growing and consuming all too fast to be natural. He grimaced. _The Apostates, this is their revenge!_

                Knowing the situation, he held his greatsword aloft. “TEMPLARS TO ME! TO ME!” He shouted, pointing his sword down the path. _Better in the open than in flaming trap._

                His Templars gathered and followed him as they descended down the hill, many soldiers panicked or paranoid asking all sorts of questions that didn’t do more than concern and confuse everyone else.

                Ardale stopped short of the path and counted off his Templars, twenty-seven. He’d had Thirty-five at the camp, he realized Gerit wasn’t amongst those that had escaped. He scowled in frustration. _They must have picked him off too. Whether its Apostates or skilled assassins, they’ve already killed a score of my men. I need to secure the safety of the rest._

                The Knight-Captain finished coming down the hill, the guards at the bottom of the path were not at their posts, likely dead as well. Meaning they were in a bad way.

                “Knight-Captain! What happened?” One of the Templars asked.

                “Was it the Apostates?”

                “Where are the others?”

                He held up his hand to silence them, “We’ve been ambushed Brothers and Sisters, by whom, I know not. But whoever they are have spilled our blood, form up! We need to prepare for an attack by them at any point. If they weren’t trying to kill us in the fire, they were trying to draw us out into the open!”

                The more sober of Templars immediately set about as orders, scrounging what shields they had forming a circular formation to cover from all sides. Ardale formed in the center, standing tall and looking out over the formation for any sign of where the attack might come from.

                In the darkness, he saw a reflection in the woods, a reflection of steel.

                “Shields!” He shouted, just as he did so the twang of arrows was heard flying, followed by the sharp sound of them striking shields. “Hold firm!” The Knight-Captain ordered, even as some arrows found their marks and felled his men.

                They had to hold their position, so far, the arrows were coming from the south, meaning that’s where there foes were, but odds were they were surrounded anyways. With the use of tactics and arrows, it definitely wasn’t the Apostates, and Bandits were not so numerous or clever as that. That left the Inquisition.

                Ardale looked at his men, tried, hungry and suffering from the lack of Lyrium. Were this an open battle, he would’ve ordered his men to fight to the last, yet he knew that pinned down with no certainty of where or how many they faced, he had to make a decision.

                “Men, defensive circle, pull back, north!” He said to his men in a hushed shout, so the attackers didn’t know their intentions. Slowly, the circle lifted and pulled back, shields locked tight around the perimeter, those without their shields used their armored bodies to protect the center. Slowly, the made their way out of firing range, and their attackers seemed uninterested in pursuit.

                After twenty meters of uninterrupted retreat, Ardale hoped that they had escaped their attackers, odd that they didn’t surround them before hand, perhaps they had hoped to circle the camp, killing their sentries and lighting the camp on fire, trapping them would’ve done that. But then why hadn’t the southern end of camp been lit? It had the entrance, and if you wanted to trap them, it would’ve been more fruitful.

                _Something’s odd_ , He thought, that’s when he saw something in the distance, a golden glow, followed by the sound of something overhead. He looked up to see dark shapes coming from above. “Shields on top!” He shouted suddenly, but there were too few, the center of the circle was struck, and many fell to the ground.

                Sounds of his brothers and sister dying shook him, at least seven were hit by the overhead barrage, he turned towards the origin of the golden light. From there stood a woman encompassed in golden armor, following her was a Seeker, two elves and a dwarf. Before he could make an order, twin walls of flames flanked his force, channeling his men either towards this group or back towards the archers.

                Ardale looked at his men, panicked, tired and weak, they couldn’t last against those five, let alone those archers behind them. He considered his options, could he order his people to die? For what? Honor, duty and glory? He was far too old to believe in such things, after killing countless of Mages who failed their Harrowings, there had been no glory in what they had done, and there was none in dying.

                Making his decision, he turned towards the approaching group, breaking through the circle. “Hold!” He shouted, repeating the order to his men.

                The group paused, looking towards the Seeker who stepped forward.

                “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” She said simply. _No wonder she’s familiar._ Ardale thought, having seen her sometime ago when she passed through Denerim.

                “Former Knight-Captain Reginald Ardale,” He introduced gruffly. “Your Inquisition are the ones responsible for the attack.”

                “Yes,” The Seeker said. “We tried to negotiate with your men before, and they did not see reason, nor did they seem inclined to inform you.”

                Ardale grimaced, _Damn them, we could have saved so many if they hadn’t escalated conflict._

                “I see,” He said, looking back to his Templars, all looking at him in fear and uncertainty. He looked down and realized his only choice. “Alright, listen to me Seeker, I understand what has been done goes against the codes of the Templar order, even if we no longer hail to it, we are still deserters, and you are within your rights to cut us down as we stand, I ask you not to.”

                Pentaghast stared at him unwaveringly, “They’ve killed innocents, pillaged the countryside,” A dark flare passed through her eyes. “I cannot allow that to go unpunished.”

                Ardale nodded, “Very well, then punish me and spare them. A good Commander needs to control his people, and if he can’t do that, then he doesn’t deserve such honor.”

                “I cannot do that,” The Seeker said. “Killing you does no one any favors, nor will it pacify your people, it will only encourage them to keep fighting until dead. They are without Lyrium and suffering from it, I cannot, in good faith, trust them to do as they’re told, especially after rebelling.”

                “Then grant me a favor, Seeker,” Ardale asked, his voice growing increasingly desperate. “Let me fight for their freedom. Take my life and let them go, let them find somewhere to settle and recover.”

                “I do not kill defenseless people, nor am I an executioner without reason,” She said firmly.

                The former Knight-Captain drew his sword, “Then let me give you reason,” He turned back to his men. “No matter what happens, you will submit yourselves to the Seeker’s demands! I will not see you all die needlessly today!”

                Reserved, the Seeker went to draw her sword, when the woman in golden armor stepped forward, “Let me do it.”

                “What are…?”

                “These people will need someone to respect, to follow. They may not do that if you kill their current leader. Let me do it,” She said instantly.

                The Seeker looked between the Knight-Captain and the warrior before nodding, “Very well.”

                Ardale nodded, satisfied, “If I win, let my people find peace and recovery, if you win, then they will be under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition. Whatever that may be.”

                The Seeker and warrior nodded, Ardale addressed his opponent, “To the first one to yield or die.” The warrior nodded, before they fought, he held up a hand, “Your name, warrior?”

                “Kassandra.”

                He nodded, “Fight well then, Kassandra.”

                She nodded in turn, raising her sword and spear, Ardale drew his greatsword, heavy in his arms after so many years. Used to take life, now he used it in the hope to try preserve it. Despite his pride, Ardale knew what he had to do.

                The walls of a flame died down and his soldiers remained away as he stared off at the warrior before him. Before they began, she reached up and removed her helmet, the shining metal dissolved into golden mist, falling to her belt. Was she a Mage? She didn’t wield a staff and had weapons in her hands, or perhaps she used her spear as a focus. Ancient Elves had done such things, Arcane Warriors, they were called. Perhaps this one was doing something similar.

                The two circled, eyes on the other with their weapons trained and ready. Ardale stepped forward thrusting with his sword, Kassandra dodged the thrust, but hadn’t counted on him taking another step and swinging it towards her then. She raised her sword to block it but was thrown off balance. Pressing his advantage, the Knight-Captain leveled his blade with his hips and swung laterally, intending to cut down his opponent at the waist.

                His opponent ducked and rolled back below and away the path of the blade, when he finished the swing, she pounced on his exposed side, thrusting her sword. Ardale dropped one arm from his sword, deflecting the strike with his armored arm and shoulder, pulling his sword back sharply and striking Kassandra behind her greaves. Surprised, she fell to the ground.

                Ardale stood, gripping his sword with both hands, raising it and swinging down. Unable to dodge in time, Kassandra raised her spear and sword at the same time, blocking the strike before it could end her. The Knight Captain reoriented himself to a better position to strike, pushing down with all his might and weight to defeat this woman.

                Kassandra grimaced, but didn’t yield. Despite her expression and some early progress, the heavier blade leaned upon with all the strength and weight of the Knight-Captain made no gains. She raised her foot, cocked it with her leg and struck Ardale in his torso. The strike was unnaturally strong, sending him back staggering nearly three meters, almost lifting him off his feet from the force. Looking down at his breastplate, Ardale noticed his armor was dented in as if he had been struck by a catapult stone. He looked up in disbelief as the warrior stood to her feet, un-winded and focused on him.

                He raised his sword and charged.

                He knew he couldn’t win, the moment her helmet had faded from her grasp, he knew he was fighting someone completely different than what he was used to. She had, with one a one-handed sword blocked his own two-handed weapon without faltering. Even blocking him when on her back and pushing him off without much effort.

                Ardale swung wide again, Kassandra leaping back as it passed and lunging forward towards him. He raised his sword, deflecting the sword, but she, younger and faster, slipped under his guard and from his right shoulder the edge of her spear came through. He groaned in pain, switching the sword to his left hand and trying to turn, as he did that however, he exposed his side, and Kassandra stabbed him in his torso.

                The Knight-Captain fell to his knees, already knowing that wouldn’t survive. He looked up at his opponent, her face steely and unreadable, but her eyes were vulnerable, it wasn’t something she had wanted to do. But she had sensed, as he had known, that he would fight to his last breath, and wouldn’t yield.

                A rueful smile graced his hardened features, “Well fought,” He said shakily, already his breath leaving him. “Please…make it quick.”

                Kassandra nodded, and in one quick movement, pierced his breastplate and heart with her spear. He let out one last impressed exhale at the power this woman held. His light left his body for the Maker’s side, his body falling to the ground.

                The Eagle-Bearer, standing victorious, looked down at dead man before her then to the huddled Templars looking at her with a mixed look of gratitude and fear. She turned to the Seeker.

                “What is to be done with them?” She asked.

                Cass sighed, “Ordinarily, they’d be made an example of, a reminder of what the Order should never lower itself to,” She spared a look at the fallen Knight-Captain. “But what he wanted was treatment and care for his people, a safe place for ex-Templars where they could escape the fate of their compatriots. A noble sentiment.”

                Cass turned to the others, “Your thoughts?”

                “You’re asking us?” Varric asked, surprised.

                “As much as I am remiss to, Varric,” Cass disclaimed, “The Inquisition stands as a pillar of its own without the ideals or laws of the Chantry to bind it. I need good opinion before I make a decision, opinion that isn’t derived from a lifetime of service to the Chanrtry.”

                The group looked between each other for a moment before voicing their opinions, “I say let them go. They want to get away from the fighting as much as we do, I say let them.”

                “Noble, Child of the Stone, but they’ve had violent urges before, who’s to say they won’t have them again?” Solas asked, turning to Cass now. “We have use for ex-Templars in the Inquisition, I think it practical to use them.”

                The Seeker nodded, turning to Sylva who had a pensive look on her face. “Herald?”

                Sylva licked her lips, “We can’t force them to join us without their consent, and I don’t think we want to conscript people whose loyalty isn’t to us. We need willing recruits, not prisoners forced to fight for us.”

                That sobered the group, the Seeker nodding firmly, “Where could we house them though? For those who suffer from Lyrium withdrawal?”

                “Wasn’t there that cult in the hills we sealed a rift our way into the valley? Why not them? They have healers aplenty, and they’d be safe so long as they were unarmed,” Sylva replied. “Those who are steady of mind and capable can be offered the chance to be part of the Inquisition.”

                There was a distinct murmur of agreement, the Seeker nodded and approached the Templar group, speaking to them in quiet and firm tones. While the Templars looked defeated, they seemed to nod and understand what was being offered to them. As the Inquisition forces approached, they handed them their weapons and armor, freely allowing themselves to be escorted away.

                As the Seeker approached them again, she sighed, a weight lifted from her shoulders, “We saved a lot of people today,” She said. “Though we couldn’t save them all, I will gladly call this a victory.”

                She looked to Kassandra, “Your plan worked well.”

                “Better,” the Eagle-Bearer nodded, sheathing her weapon. “I’m glad we didn’t have to kill them all.”

                “I as well,” The Seeker said wearily. She rubbed her eyes, “Come, we make for camp. Tomorrow, we’re back to it. There’s still much to do.”

                Quietly and somberly the group made their way towards the camp, save for Kassandra and Sylva, the former going to the body of Ardale, closing his still open eyes. From her belt she pulled out a drachmae coin and placed it in his mouth. There was no ferryman in the Chant of Light, but if he found himself in Hades, it would be handy to have.

                “Are you alright, Kassandra?” Sylva asked, standing next to her.

                She stood and nodded, glancing down at Ardale’s body, “I just don’t care for killing good people.”

                Sylva nodded, “It makes you wonder if we’re actually the heroes in this story, or if we’re steps away from being the villains.”

                “Sometimes, I wonder myself.”

                The two stood in silence, until the faint sound of water hitting metal was heard. Kassandra looked up, another droplet hitting her on the forehead. It was starting to rain.

                “C’mon,” Sylva said, offering her hand. “We should get to camp.”

                Kassandra nodded, taking the elf’s hand in her own and letting herself being led away to the camp. What she hadn’t told her was that Ardale had reminded her of a dear friend she had lost, a good general, a strong warrior, and someone Kassandra wished had a better fate than he had.

                A single tear fell from Kassandra’s eye as she thought of her fallen friend, Brasidas. Ardale had the same spark in his eye, one she had taken, similar to Brasidas, while it hadn’t been her directly, it was her presence and mission that put him on the path to death. A path she deeply wished she could have changed. For all her power and supposed divinity, Kassandra couldn’t change time or fate.

                All she could do, was to make sure that no more people of noble sense fell because of her actions or weapons. It wouldn’t happen, but it was a reminder to do better than she had. Perhaps this new world was a second chance for her, to save more people than she could have in Hellas, perhaps, she could do better here. Save more than she had lost.

                Only time and her actions would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, oddly this chapter was made after the next one, if that makes sense? I had written and nearly finished chapter five now before realizing, "Okay I gotta go back and add a chapter, there's too much important stuff being referenced as happening. I need to actually show it." I had a lot of inspiration from some War Documentaries for this piece. I really wanted to try and capture some of the mentality and desperation of this group of Templars and show them off as more than demented people who'd kill you on sight in game. Kind of wished there was a quest in the Hinterlands to convince, persuade or even coerce either the Apostates or rogue Templars to surrender instead of being forced to kill them all. Also, four people storming the main camp of Templars without major consequence? Really? 
> 
> You will notice that I'm using a lot more of Inquisition forces in this story, mostly because it makes sense. I know in game you have the party system and with the revelation of a troubled production, probably couldn't make any innovations like that of Origins in commanding large groups of people to fight besides you. In this fic I'm probably going to use the Inquisition forces for more than camp maintenance and story missions, like they're actively the ones getting the horses, supplying the refugees with food and clothing, running the errands that you, as the Inquisitor, realistically wouldn't have to do as you have more important things to take care of than finding a farmer's loss bull-thing. 
> 
> Anyways, I considered releasing both chapters together, but the mood of them feels in complete opposition, so I will not post them together. 
> 
> While I'm putting out chapters fairly quickly, please note I'm still in the Honeymoon phase with this story and at some point that'll probably fade or lessen, especially as life picks up as it inevitably does, besides some other fics I have to work on. Just a little disclosure for you all going forward.
> 
> As always, any comments, questions and concerns please comment below, and have a glorious day!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~DariusSobreitus.


	5. Separation

“So, where you’re from, humans worship multiple Gods as well?” Sylva asked Kassandra.

                “We do,” Kassandra said. “Though, from what I understand there’s wildly different interpretations between the cities on how they worship them.”

                “Oh yeah?”

                “The Goddess of Love, Aphrodite, sometimes she’s a benevolent and caring figure who wants true love to blossom regardless of the consequence to others. Other times, she’s vindictive and curses anyone who is boasted as being more beautiful than her, regardless of the cursed person’s opinion of the matter,” Kassandra told her, stoking the fire in front of them. “In Sparta, she’s a war Goddess as well as one of love, how that works, I don’t know, but it does.”

                “Huh,” Sylva looked up thoughtfully, “Among the Dalish clans we have the same pantheon of Gods, but aside from a few different interpretations, they all are generally the same.”

                “Well, I can safely say that while we all speak the same language, we have vastly different values among the cities.”

                “Sparta and Athens being the most prominent, right?” Sylva asked.

                “Yes, Sparta is the strongest force on land, the soldiers are groomed from birth to be warriors, any children who exhibit signs of weakness are thrown to their death,” Kassandra said uneasily. “They control the mainland, while Athens is a naval power, controlling the seas.”

                Sylva frowned, “Sparta sounds barbaric if you don’t mind my saying.”

                “It is,” Kassandra said hollowly, “Fathers throw their children to their deaths in duty to the state.”

                The elf looked over at her companion and frowned, detecting the sorrow in her voice. She instantly knew why.

                “I’m sorry,” Sylva said softly. “I can understand why you consider a ship your home now.”

                Kassandra smiled fondly, “It was a place where I could be myself with people who cherished me for it. It wasn’t always easy or simple, but it was mine.”

                Sylva reached over and gently took Kassandra’s hand in her own, “You can talk to me about it anytime you need to, Kassandra.”

                The Misthios looked at the other woman, “Thank you,” She stood up. “I’m going to go for a walk, I’ll be back soon.”

                Sylva looked uncertain, but nodded, Varric, still seated across the fire offered a small smile. Kassandra left, leaving the camp somewhat quiet.

                They had left Haven two weeks ago, arriving in the Hinterlands five days previously, making contact with Mother Giselle and sorting out the Templars and Mages in the area. They had just finished sealing the rifts in the area, and now they were waiting to hear back from Haven, Cassandra had sent word explaining the situation and awaiting instruction. There was need to go to Val Royeaux, to speak with the remaining Chantry heads and perhaps earn their support, Cassandra had written in her letter that she would take Sylva there if need be.

                Sylva was tired, but satisfied, sealing the rifts was getting easier, and surprisingly enough, help people get fed and secure their safety, and they won’t care what shape your ears are or if you can spout fire from your hands. Plus, being out among the wilderness and moving about was helping her after being stuck in Haven for nearly a month.

                Not that it had been easy, there were more bears here than Sylva had seen in her whole life, thankfully Kassandra had been more than willing to take them out herself, with practiced ease it seemed. From there, she had skinned them respectfully to make furs and meat for the refugees, it had been good for them, and more than a few of the refugees had gawked at the tall woman bestowing gifts on them, with her shining armor of gold and red, many had believed the claim of her being the Herald’s Guardian.

                The title of Herald had not been one that Sylva had sought, she didn’t believe in the Maker, nor did she particularly like being his bride’s Herald, being an elf and a Mage at that seemed to contradict that image, but oddly enough anytime she used it, people believed her. While the title rang hollow to her, its use in uniting and calming people had one much good. More than enough for Sylva to not cringe when she referred to herself as such.

                “So,” Varric’s rough voice broke her chain of thought. “How are you taking this all in?”

                Sylva raised an eyebrow, “The number of bears? Surprising, I guess the last Blight must have somehow helped their reproductive abilities, or maybe it was the depopulation.I don’t know, I’m sure someone will blame the Dalish for that too.”

                Varric chuckled, “You got a sharp tongue, glad to see you’re not taking this lying down.”

                “What I can say, when faced with the impossible, best I can do is laugh and take it in stride,” Sylva said. Varric snorted.

                “Now I’m mad I didn’t call you chuckles,” He said.

                Sylva smirked, shaking her head. Varric was fast becoming a friend, concerned for her wellbeing and often checking in on her during these quiet moments. While the Seeker made it mandate to make sure she was up for what lay ahead and would allow her to rest, she was focused on the task at hand, the dwarf however made sure she was getting rest, eating and overall taking care of herself. If it wasn’t for him and Kassandra, she would certainly be in lower spirits.

                “But seriously, how are you doing? I mean, praise is nice, but people rarely ask if you’re okay after doing it.”

                She sighed, “Honestly Varric, I’m just glad I don’t have a noose on my neck right now. I’m glad to see people thanking me and not calling me ‘knife ear’, but I’m worried. We have a lot ahead of us, and if we go to Val Royeaux, I’m certain I’m either going to get imprisoned, or killed for certain.”

                The dwarf nodded, “Well, if its any consolation, Cass won’t let you get killed while she’s on guard duty, and I have good aim,” He patted his crossbow. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, Orlesians are more about killing you in a secluded area, attacking out in the open is not their forte.”

                “I’ll keep that in mind,” Sylva said, exhaling stiffly. She looked beyond Varric at the rest of the camp followers, Solas and Cass were on the other side of the camp, the former already in his tent and sleeping, with the latter speaking in-depth with Inquisition agents. “Thank you for sticking with us, Varric,” She said suddenly. “I have no doubt you want to get back to Hawke, wherever she is.”

                Surprised at her words, Varric sighed, “Yeah, well. Sometimes you look at something and realize, you could try to ignore it, but it might just be better to face it head on. Not because it’s the smart or even brave thing to do, but by ignoring it, one way or another it’s going to come to you,” The dwarf stoke the flames, “Personally, I’d rather face whatever this is and take it on now then wait for it to get uncontrollable.”

                Sylva smiled at his words, “Well said.”

                “Indeed,” Came a voice from behind, both looked to see Cass standing there, an impressed look on her face. “It is late, we should rest.” She looked around, “Where is Kassandra?”

                “She went for a walk,” Sylva said, standing up, “Said she’d be back soon, just make sure the sentries know.”

                Cass nodded as Sylva head off to the tent she shared with the Eagle-Bearer, leaving the Seeker and the rogue in the middle of the camp. “You’re more noble than you give yourself credit for, Varric,” She said with a rare appraisement.

                Varric chuckled, “We can’t all pretend to be as selfish as we want to be, Seeker,” He looked over at Sylva tent. “She’s risking a lot being with us, and Kassandra is staying despite wanting to return home. How can I give less than them? Especially when they don’t have the choice of walking away.”

                The Seeker looked at the dwarf with newfound admiration, “Do you…have word on the Champion?”

                Varric sighed, “Some, not exactly good,” he rubbed his eyes. “Last I heard, they were somewhere off the coast of the Free Marches, finding them has been tricky. Between rogue Templars, Starkhaven and bounty hunters, they’ve been on the move.”

                The Seeker nodded, “If you find them…”

                “I’ll see if they’ll come,” Varric said softly. “You just have to understand; Hawke might not want to come. She’s already lost and given so much; I don’t know if she’ll come back for this.”

                The Seeker nodded, “Rest well, Varric.”

                “You too, Seeker,” Varric said quietly, as Cass moved to her own tent.

                The dwarf poked around the fire for a short while, debating on when he would go to sleep himself, but just as he put another log on the fire, Kassandra appeared, entering the camp, panting slightly.

                “You alright there, Mercy?” Varric asked. The mercenary looked up and smirked.

                “Doing well enough, what about you, Hermes?” She asked.

                Varric raised an eyebrow, “Sorry, but I give the nicknames here. Besides, what does ‘air-mees’ mean?”

                “Hermes, the god of trickery, thieves and messengers,” Kassandra said. “You seem to have most of those qualities.”

                The dwarf looked at her aghast, “Not sure if I should be flattered I’m nicknamed for a god, or should be concerned given how…dark those stories from your home are.”

                “If it helps, Hermes is also exceptionally clever and usually keeps out of trouble,” She said.

                “Heh, well it definitely doesn’t fit me then, trouble and I are like old friends. Friends who really should have separated and cut ties at this point, but he keeps finding me and throwing messes at me to deal with.”

                Kassandra chuckled, “Same with me, perhaps its what draws us together.”

                “Maybe,” Varric shrugged. “Like attracts like, dangers attracts more danger.”

                Kassandra chuckled, reaching for one of the skins of liquor on the ground, taking a swig she grimaced, “Uhg, how you all can drink this goat piss, I don’t know.”

                Varric laughed, “Just don’t think about the taste, think about how it warms the cheeks and makes everything seem a little better.”

                She put the skin down, “I drink for pleasure, Varric, not for escape,” She sat down opposite of him, stripping out of her armor. “Where I’m from, wine is as common as water to drink, and I think it might be a bit richer. I doubt any of this drink you have could get me drunk anytime soon.”

                “I’ll show you some real ale, someday, see how well you’re doing there,” Varric said. Kassandra laughed mirthfully, before setting eyes on him, sharp and dangerous as a predator.

                “Well, I do like your shirt, I might just win it over a round of drinks,” She said.

                “Uhg,” Varric grunted in a Cass-like way, “Everyone trying to steal my things, aren’t I supposed to be the thief?”

                Kassandra finished removing her armor, now polishing it, “Well, you steal nice things, people will want those nice things in turn.”

                “Heh, you got me there.”

                Kassandra and Varric sat in companionable silence for a good while, she finished cleaning her armor and weapons, storing them in the orb on her belt, something the dwarf couldn’t help but look on in amazement. He had some strong opinions about the so-called Champion of Andraste, while she was utterly terrifying in battle like the Seeker or even Fenris back in Kirkwall, she had a strange air about her. Something reserved, silent and sad. In the quiet moments like this he saw it, her dark eyes, usually filled with flames of humor and life, were distant as thoughts ran through her head. Varric knew the trappings of a tragic hero when he saw one, and he wondered if that was what the woman before him was.

                She was courageous, intense and unyielding in combat, easily able to dispatch Templars, Mages, demons and bandits in similar ease and skill. He had no doubt he could take on the four of them and come out on top without too much trouble, besides that though, she was kind. Sure, she got annoyed with the idiots like Rodrick and many others, and she usually looked ready to run through them with her spear, but she always hesitated in the last moment, either giving a closing statement with such steel that the hardiest of folk would crumble under gaze, or just departing in silence.

                The next moment, you’d see her helping a child looking for their parents, not asking any reward, but raising a high price if some noble’s kid lost their sword in the wilds when out hunting. She knew who was worth her kindness and who wasn’t, and equally knew who could pay her well and who couldn’t.

                Varric wondered what story she had from home, and what weights she carried that they didn’t know. She had freely said she was a stranger to these lands and their customs yet persisted in a purely unique and stand out way. How that affected her though, he didn’t know if he could guess.

                He didn’t want to guess, nor did he want to ask her, he knew all too well there were some pasts best left to history and not in the present or future.

                Varric picked himself up, “I’m going to bed, night Mercy.”

                “Sleep well, Hermes,” Kassandra said softly, eyes down and on the fire, the spear in her hand. That was Varric’s last image of her before he went to bed. A warrior free of their armor, but tense and hollow as they stared into the flames. _What faces and decisions rest in those flames? A need to go on, or doubt to impede her progress?_ He wouldn’t guess, he only hoped she found the answer she sought.

               

                The next morning was dull, with light clouds that covered the sun, but offered no rain. Kassandra sat at the campfire, having reloaded the wood through the night and finding no sleep for herself. The Misthios could go three days without sleep, and while she did tend to rest at the end of every day, last night was not one of them. Too mired in thoughts and memories, the others were curious of where she was from as well as the stories she had from there. She didn’t have issues sharing, but in sharing it brought up how isolated she was from it all, no way to know where home was, no means to find it, and the more people asked, the more she longed for it.

                Perhaps she didn’t actually miss Hellas, endless war and bounties she followed and defended against, everyone in the world needing something for the right price, and the dullness and uncertainty that life brought for a mercenary. She might have missed the familiarity of it all, where there was no magic, no chaos that couldn’t be explained simply, no enemy she couldn’t find and face.

                She wondered what Barnabas would say to her now, what Herodotus would say, would they be ecstatic at the privilege of being in a new world? Rejoicing in new Gods, culture and people to share stories and drink with? Or would they fear for their lives in a world so different from their own?

                Kassandra herself was of two worlds, the mortal child of Sparta fighting for Hellas, and the one of immortal shadow, the Cult of Kosmos hunting her bloodline, the mystery of her Grandfather’s lineage, and who her true father was. Her mother hadn’t been able to tell her in the end, wanting to explain it to both her and Deimos. Now she would never know, and maybe that was for the better, but the uncertainty would eat away at her for the rest of her life.

                For now, she would do what she needed to secure herself in this world, and if that meant killing monstrous demons for the foreseeable future, then she would do it. Hopefully, she would find Herodotus and tell him of this story for him to write down one day.

                Shaking herself, Kassandra stood from the stone she had sat upon all night, stretching her limbs and working out the kinks in her joints. She looked over to see Cass looking over a letter one of the soldiers had given her. Perhaps it was a reply from the council of the Inquisition, she had sent words as they arrived, so perhaps this was the response.  

                As the Seeker read the missive, Kassandra was given a bowl of stew from one of the soldiers cooking food, along with it a slab of bear meat, which they had extra of. She ate quickly and went to her shared tent with Sylva knocking on the flap with her food. “Get up, foods up.”

                In the span of a minute, Sylva was dressed, wide-eyed and going for the nearest soldier with broth, practically wrenching it from their hands and inhaling the food. Eating hungrily as she stood and finished within a minute.

                Kassandra smirked, “Hungry, were you?”

                “You’d be surprised how much sealing rifts takes out of you, especially the morning after,” Sylva said between mouthfuls, washing it down with a canteen of water. She exhaled and looked over to Kassandra.

                “You didn’t come into the tent last night, did you?” She asked.

                The Misthios shook her head, “I didn’t.”

                “Why not?”

                “Too many thoughts,” She said with a solemn smile. “I’m fine.”

                Sylva wasn’t convinced based on her somber expression; concern laced firmly in the lines of her frown. “Kassandra…”

                “Herald, news,” The Seeker spoke up then, taking the chance to leave the conversation, Kassandra stood up and approached Cass, eager to know what was sent back. Sylva pouted, but set aside her dishes and approached the Seeker.

                “What do we have?”

                Cass handed her the letter, “In short, we have leave to head towards Val Royeaux, we’re to meet with an Inquisition vanguard and travel with them there. It will be a long road, at least three weeks to reach the city.”

                “Alright,” Sylva shrugged, “Lets get backed and moving.”

                “Only you and I will go,” Cass said, Sylva stopped and turned to her.

                “Excuse me?”

                The Seeker stood firmly, “Leliana and Josephine fear, rightly perhaps, that a large party of followers going to the Capital might be too unnerving for the Orlesians to handle. Your status is already controversial enough, at best, and going with all of us,” She looked pointedly at Solas and Varric who had just been roused. “Might incur disfavor among those in the Capital.”

                Sylva followed her gaze and huffed, “Well tough shit,” She snapped. “I’m not going to let their seclusion or racism get in my way, in fact why don’t we have a full force of elves instead? Really drive it to those intolerant fucks?”

                Varric and Kassandra had to stifle nervous laughter at Sylva’s derisive words, Cass however twitched her lips in displeasure, “I do not like it either, Herald,” She said earnestly. “But if it gains us any allies, I believe we should proceed this way.” The Seeker raised her arms in defense as Sylva started to go off again. “Besides, we will be gone over month, and things need to be done in our absence, Cullen has suggested that Kassandra, Solas and Varric further our hold in the Hinterlands, perhaps meet with the rebel Mages in Redcliffe, and see to other matters.”

                The elf took all the words Cass said, and after pacing in silence for a moment, she sighed, looking over to the others, “You guys are alright with this?” She asked.

                “Honestly, the less I have to see of Orlais, the better for me,” He said.

                “I doubt I’d be much use in the Capital, especially if you seek to garner an audience with the Chantry and Templars,” Solas said softly.

                Sylva nodded, looking to Kassandra, a sad look in her eye. The Misthios could tell that she wanted her to go with, to refuse the order and travel together. Not desperate, but hopeful. The two got along well and looked out for each other in battle and on the field. It was natural they wanted to keep that going.

                However, Kassandra knew that’d she of better use here, cleaning up what was left to be cleaned, and if there were any rifts they encountered, she would be able to seal them herself, hopefully. Though whether the Seeker or Spymaster knew this was uncertain.

                Kassandra looked over to Cass pointedly, “You’ll keep her safe?”

                The Seeker nodded, unoffended. The Misthios nodded, “Then I’ll remain.”

                “Alright, guess that’s that,” Sylva said quietly, turning to Cass. “When do we leave?”

                “Within the hour, I have to speak to the Champion of her tasks, then we’ll pack and leave,” Sylva nodded and went to her tent to collect her supplies, while Cass passed the letter to the Misthios.

                “Leliana has found evidence of a Grey Warden in the area. Since the Conclave, they have been scare and reclusive, more than usual, she wants you to find a Warden Constable known as Blackwall and see what he knows, if anything,” The Seeker said. “After that, you are to head to Redcliffe, see if you can get an audience with the Rebel Mages there.”

                Kassandra nodded, “What authority do I have on my own, I assume I can’t exactly write to you to figure out what must be done?”

                Cass smirked, “You are to do whatever is best in your judgement, whatever helps the Inquisition. What that means to you, we’ll just have to trust that you’ll know what to do.”

                “Do you, though?”

                The question was simply put, but heavy in connotations, The Seeker looked at the Misthios carefully, as if assessing her own opinion. After a time, she nodded. “You have had more than a number of chances to leave, to flee, yet you haven’t. And while you are not Andrastian, I trust in your instincts to do what’s best for our cause, for your own as well, I imagine. I’ll trust you until you give reason not to, make sure that you don’t give me such reason.”

                The response was good for Kassandra to hear in person, upfront and honest, just how it should be. She offered her arm, and grasped Cass’, “Likewise, Cass. Take care of her.” They both looked towards Sylva’s form in her tent.

                “I will,” Cass promised soberly, flickering a look towards Varric, “Keep him from making ridiculous stories about me?”

                “I’ll do my best,” Kassandra said with a smirk.

                The Seeker grinned and moved to her own tent, Sylva came from her tent at that point, her rucksack packed, and her staff supporting part of her weight. Despite her lithe physique, she was much stronger than she looked.

                She looked up at Kassandra and smiled, “Don’t do anything too reckless,” She said to her.

                Kassandra smiled back at her, “Says the woman going straight into the Lion’s den, it sounds.”

                “Fans and masks break easier than bone and armor,” Sylva said. “If it comes to that, of course.”

                Kassandra shuddered at the thought, she remembered what power masks granted, and how they could be used to weave and thread a tapestry of woe and fear. Unconsciously, the Misthios took Sylva’s hand in her own, gently rubbing the knuckles. “Be careful, Sylva.”

                The depths of Kassandra’s eyes must have shown, as the so-called Herald instantly sobered, returning the grasp of their hands. “I will, lethallan.”

                _Friend._ The Staff translated in her mind. Kassandra smiled.

                With a final look towards Cass, Sylva nodded at the Misthios and immediately set off. “We make for the refugee camp, we’ll gather some supplies, troops, and some horses before leaving.”

                Kassandra nodded, watching as the Seeker and Sylva left the camp, leaving her with Varric and Solas, both looking at her in question.

                “Do we get to sleep in now?” Varric asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the second half I was talking about, a little short, but I felt like it worked fine on its own merits, especially given the more character-driven elements it has. 
> 
> I always felt like it was strange with Inquisition that you would travel the whole length of Southern Thedas so quickly without much issue, but only a year or two passed in the main story. Not much you can do with that, but I figured I would try to split up the group, especially considering that I don't think showing up with an Elven Apostate or a dwarf in your party in Val Royeaux would do much good with the typically human-based Chantry. Of course, Varric does have fans in Orlais, but that's not exactly good political coverage on such a scale. 
> 
> From here, Kassandra will remain in Ferelden and meet a certain Warden, and overall take care of Inquisition responsibilities in the country while Sylva deals with Orlais. 
> 
> I will be forward in saying that I've been considering doing an Inquisition piece for awhile and thinking of ways to make it unique and interesting, and now that I have the chance, there will probably be a few questionable things that happen canon and lore wise, so be aware of that. Especially given the wrench that is Kassandra. 
> 
> Might be awhile before the next update as I've got to Update Annakpok and Cursed Emperor, but my love for Blackwall and this story might prevail, we'll see yet. 
> 
> As always, comments, thoughts and questions are appreciated.   
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~Darius Sobreitus


	6. Warden Blackwall

 

                “You’re sure the Warden is in this area?” Kassandra asked the scout as they prepared to leave the camp.

                “I’m certain, Ser,” She said. “Word from the valley below is that half a dozen youths were recruited by this Warden and taken up to the plateau above us.” She pointed out on the map, a body of water on this plateau, giving way to the pond next to camp. Kassandra nodded.

                “Alright,” She said, folding the map. “What do we know of this Warden?”

                “His name is Blackwall, he’s a respected member of the order, usually operates in Orlais,” The Scout said. “Aside from that, we don’t know why he’s in Ferelden or what he knows of the rest of the Wardens.”

                The Eagle-Bearer pet Ikaros who was perched on her shoulder, she turned to Varric and Solas who stood a few paces behind her. “Thoughts?”

                “If he’s here, lets get him! Can’t say it’s always this easy,” Varric said.

                “Will it be though?” Solas asked. “This Warden is alone, and their order often takes in murderers and thieves do they not? If he is not with the others, perhaps there’s reason for it, we should be cautious.”

                Kassandra nodded, “Caution is wise, yes, but we can’t let him slip away if we’re this close. The only way we know of the Wardens is if we ask him. And I doubt we’ll get another chance.”

                Solas nodded, and Varric shouldered Bianca, his crossbow. “Shall we?”

                The three set off from camp and up the hill, with the Inquisition’s presence in the area most of the bandits gone, and the Templars and Apostates taken care of, the area was peaceful and serene. In many ways reminding Kassandra of Makedonia when she passed through.

                “It is peaceful, isn’t it?” Solas asked, having guessed her thoughts, his eyes looking out on the valley. “A shame to see it so wrought with war and ravage.”

                Varric scoffed, “Yeah well, don’t need much to cause it. Just a couple of idiots drunk on power and chaos to raze the good lands. Took years to restore this place after the Blight, takes less than one to wear it down again.”

                Kassandra sighed, _Reminds me too much of home, as much as I could call it a home._ She turned to the others, “Come on, we won’t get anywhere by admiring the view, the dwarf and elf nodded, following her as they ascended the hill.

                The path was well-travelled, it seemed this plateau was a popular spot, popular enough to form a dirt and gravel path through thick underbrush. It was half a mile to the top, and the Misthios turned to her companions.

                “What can you tell me about the Wardens?” She asked.

                “The good or bad? Because most Wardens I’ve met come with both,” Varric said.

                Solas wore an expression of disdain, “While I might agree their goals and dedication are noble, their mentality is rife with complexity. They would do anything it took to win against the Blight and Darkspawn, not in a way to understand it and prevent it, but to react to it. Clearing a nest of wasps after its been disturbed and not before when they knew full well it was there,” He sighed. “They mettle in matters they do not fully understand, nor do they fully seek to understand it either. Someday they will grow too arrogant to see how twisted and deplorable they can become.”

                Kassandra raised an eyebrow, “Have they done anything like that?”

                “Nothing I know of, but an order that ancient has its secrets. And history is always in favor of them, perhaps such events were hidden or avoided in the texts.”

                Varric cleared his throat, “I’ve seen a few of those secrets,” He looked to Kassandra, “It was some dicey shit, let me tell you.”

                “Can I trust them?” Kassandra asked.

                “You might trust them as far as your goals align, but unless you are as they are and understand their task and duty, you may never understand them enough to trust them,” Solas said somewhat cynically.

                “Depends on the Warden,” Varric said coolly to check Solas’ tone. “Some I’ve met are good people doing the best they can with what they’ve got, others are as twisted and warped as the craziest I’ve met, and I’ve seen some crazy.”

                Kassandra sighed, “Guess we’ll see when we see.”

                As the trio cleared the path and arrived at the plateau, Kassandra could only admire the beauty around them. A log house on a lake, with greenery all around, flowers and herbs growing in abundance, it was something so serene and so peaceful, she almost stepped into a rock and tripped. She shook her head.

                “Want to bet he’s in the cabin taking a nap?” Varric asked.

                Kassandra looked up, spotting Ikaros above them, circling the area, he made his way to the far end of the lake before his shrill call was heard. “That way.”

                The elf and dwarf looked at each other, “How did you know that?”

                “Ikaros,” Kassandra said simply, “He knows where to point me.”

                “You’re saying your bird can spot things for you?”

                “Yes,” At her simple answer, Varric guffawed. She glanced back at him. “Changing my armor in a flash of light is completely believable but my bird being smart enough to help me isn’t?”

                Varric held up his hands, “At least with the former I saw it, so I can believe it. I guess if your bird is anything like a Mabari, then I’ll hold you to it.”

                Kassandra didn’t respond, moving towards the area Ikaros had indicated. The lake was deep and wide, but a wooden walkway was made over it, which the three crossed. On top of it, they spotted a group of people on the far bank of the lake next to another house.  There were young and poorly armed men and women who all looked to one man who stood before them. He was distinct, average in height, with a thick gambeson of black, with silver armor over his form, a helmet with a plume rested under his arm, on the other arm, a shield in the visage of a griffon. All they could see was his large stature and dark hair.

                Even as they approached, Kassandra could hear this thick and gruff voice carry over to them, “…shields are for defense, can save your life, but the edge or the center can be used as a weapon too. When you fight, use everything at your disposal to win.”

                “Sounds like someone I know,” Varric said nostalgically.

                They approached slowly, Kassandra trying to catch all the lead man said.

                “In battle, a good line is as good as the finest armor and weapons. Against one, your skill, arms and experience are the deciding factor, in a line, you have good people at your side and back who’ll fight with you. Against disorganized fighters, you will prevail.”

                He made a gesture with his arm, and the people formed into a rough square formation, three at front and three at the back. The ones in the back were armed with spears, or what could function as them, there was at least one pitchfork in their midst, while those at front had either a sword or axe, and not of the greatest quality.

                The trio approached, coming off the wooden walkway, as they came near, one of the youths pointed them out, the man turned. Beyond a great black, forked beard, was a fair face that had seen sun, with a nose that had at one time been broken, along with sunken, but vivid blue eyes beneath bushy brows. He frowned and approached, on hand at the sword on his belt.

                “Who are you and what is your business here?” He asked, stopping some three meters from them.

                “We are here to seek the Grey Warden, Blackwall, are you him?” Kassandra asked.

                He frowned suspiciously, looking them over, “You’re not…who are you? Why are you looking for me? Who gave you my-?”

                Something caught his eye off to Kassandra’s right, and faster than one with so much armor and gear should have moved, he was pressed up against the Misthios. His arm wrapped around her back to her shoulder and pulled her down and back as he pulled his shield forward, there was a sharp twang, a thud and an arrow fell to the ground at their feet.

                Blackwall pulled away, looking over his shield to spot bandits in mismatched armor and gear approaching en masse. His sharp eyes turned to them, “That’s it! Help us or leave, I’m taking care of these idiots.”

                He pulled away, drawing his sword and waving at the youths, “Here they come! Remember your training, form up!”

                Surprising to Kassandra’s eyes was the compliance and speed the youths moved at, their faces betrayed fear, but their actions spoke of confidence. The back line formed and raised their spears, the front drew up their shields and weapons, resting comfortably between the shafts of spears they stood between, channels to ferry attacking people towards.

                Blackwall fell into stride on the group’s right, putting himself between Kassandra and the approaching bandits, Varric and Solas looked to her for orders. Smirking, the Misthios drew her bow.

                “Keep it at range, aim for the wings of the bandits, force them to cluster,” She said, drawing an arrow and knocking it, flame instantly covering the tip of the arrow.

                She drew and fired, the flaming arrow clearing the heads of Blackwall and his people and striking a bandit in the chest, forcing him to drop to his knees. The Warden looked back, nodded tersely and advanced.

                “Alright conscripts, we have archers covering us! Focus forward and take these fools out,” He shouted, with grim determination, the small phalanx moved forward.

                Solas drew lightning to his hands, grabbing hold of his staff and directing it to the right flank of the mass of bandits, cutting them off from flanking the position. Varric took out the archers as Kassandra thinned the oncoming bandits. Soon, it was an even seven against seven.

                “Hold your line! We are not turning back!” Blackwall shouted, bracing himself behind a shield as the oncoming bandits made contact. The spears did their purpose, while only one struck and killed a charging enemy, they did funnel the bandits into the rows where the front line dispatched two more with their sword and axe respectively. One of the youths did fall, struck on the head by the flat of a blade, but that offender soon met their end.

                Blackwall himself dispatched the last three attackers, easily and efficiently, blocking one’s overhead strike and stabbing through his mail, the other he bashed in the face with his shield, sending him to the ground. With a quick and severe stomp, his neck was broken. The final bandit charged from behind him, and looked to be close, close enough for Kassandra to draw another arrow to fire, but the Warden sidestepped, letting the bandit swing and miss, only for a blade to slash across his open back.

                There was a pregnant pause as the small phalanx awaited to see if there were more coming, with no sound and a score of bodies, Blackwall relaxed, looking down at the three men he had just killed. Even from a distance, Kassandra could hear him utter “Sorry bastards,” under his breath.

                Blackwall turned to address his group, “You did good, all of you. After today, you no longer serve the Wardens, but will stand for yourselves,” He looked at the bodies again. “These people were thieves but could have easily been you if they made better decisions, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they’ve plundered and return to your families, next time, you won’t need me.”

                The group of youths nodded, breaking formation and heading off, likely towards a nearby bandit encampment, as they did that, Blackwall turned to Kassandra, Solas and Varric. He appraised them soberly, though Kassandra did notice his eyes take more time in studying her.

                “You’re no farmers, nor are you helpless. Who are you?” He asked.

                Kassandra stepped forward, “We’re part of the Inquisition. We were told you were in the area and asked to investigate.”

                “Investigate me? Why?” He asked, blatant suspicion in his face.

                “We’re looking for Grey Wardens,” Varric said. “Since the Divine’s death, most have made their selves scarce. We wondered if you know anything about that.”

                Blackwall looked at them in astonishment, “Since the Divine’s death? You don’t mean?” He looked into their eyes and sighed. “Well, let me spare you one thing I know, no Warden killed the Divine. Our purposes haven’t always been apolitical, but killing a Chantry leader is too far, too far for any Warden to think of.”

                Solas scoffed, “Victory at any costs, even at a Divine’s death is conceivable, no? A small task compared to killing an Archdemon.”

                Blackwall either didn’t hear him or ignored him entirely, “As for where the Wardens might have gone? Tough to say, I keep to myself most of the time, and if they haven’t sent a runner for me, they might not know where I’m at. Best I can say is a few places to go to, Weisshaupt is very far, but the best place to look, Val Chevin is closer, or maybe even Adamant, but its an old fortress out in the desert, can’t imagine why they’d go there.”

                “Why are you on your own?” Kassandra asked.

                Blackwall pulled out a cloth and began to clean his blade, “Mostly recruiting, not exactly getting a lineup of recruits with the Blight a decade done and without that, no urgency to recruit it turns out. Still, I try to help where I can, especially since the Conclave went to hell, things have been hell here.”

                “Such as fighting bandits?” Kassandra asked with some mirth.

                Blackwall sighed, “There’s always going to be selfish idiots who take from those who have less than them, the people here are farmers, shepherds, most don’t know how to fight or wield a weapon. Bandits raided the area and a small village nearby, I ‘conscripted’ the youths and made them stand with me, to fight for themselves. Next time, they won’t need a Warden to guide them.”

                Kassandra nodded, “That’s noble of you.”

                “Wardens can inspire you to be better than you are, be someone you’re proud to be, and do things that made you feel like you’re part of something special,” Blackwall said with the utmost sincerity.

                Kassandra nodded, looking to Solas and Varric who looked equally deflated. _This man has no answers, a pity, I rather like the look of him._ She thought to herself.

                “Thank you for your time, Warden Blackwall,” She said and gestured for the others to follow. The two did so, perplexed on the enigma of the Warden order at the moment.

                “Inquisition…agent, hold a moment,” Blackwall’s voice came, Kassandra turned. “Times are bad now, and while I can’t give you what you need in regard to what the other Wardens are up to, I can give you a good sword arm.”

                Kassandra was intrigued, but determined not to show it, “Oh? And what can one Warden do?”

                A broad smirk covered Blackwall’s face, “Save the fucking world if pressed. And if that doesn’t please,” He went over to a small campsite, from it he produced a satchel. “Treaties, ancient ones the Wardens can use to get the resources we need, when we need them. This might not be a Blight but considering the fact the world owes Ferelden one for stopping one early, they might be willing to give something of note.”

                Kassandra smiled, “On my part, on behalf of the Inquisition, I accept your offer, Warden Blackwall. Welcome to the Inquisition,” She approached him and grasped him by the arm. His eyes met hers in a deep-set lock.

                “I am honored, my lady,” He said, eyes showing appreciation. Kassandra merely raised her eyebrow. Looking to Solas and Varric who seemed to approve, at least visibly, of her decision she gestured with her head.

                “Come, I’ll explain the situation on our way to camp,” She said.

                “Before that,” Blackwall spoke up suddenly, “I have a favor to ask of the Inquisition.”

                “That didn’t take long,” Varric chuckled.

                Kassandra looked to him and nodded. “The bandits here, they’re small fish to be sure, but they answer to bigger ones in the hills. They hold a small fortress, from there they can defend, raid and launch attacks on the Hinterlands with impunity. I’d appreciate if we can take it out, who knows, might be a good place to rest if we take it.”

                The Misthios smirked, “Assuming no one disagrees, I say we shall,” She looked to Solas and Varric again for any disapproval, they had none. _Seems like they want me to be the one to make decisions, Gods know why._

                “So, how does a Warden find himself alone, cut off from the rest of the order?” Varric asked as the group made their way towards the bandit stronghold.

                Blackwall regarded him with a sidelong look, “I can ask how a dwarf found himself involved with the Inquisition,” He smirked in good humor. “Truthfully, I’ve preferred to travel on my own. Besides, the Wardens are spread thin enough without sending people to babysit me.”

                “Fair enough,” Varric said thoughtfully. “As for me, I was interrogated by another burly woman with a sword called Cassandra, then the sky opened and well…here I am.”

                The Warden nodded, looking to the elf in the group, “And you, Solas was it? What brought you to the Inquisition?”

                The elf looked back, from the front of the party, “There was a need,” He said simply. “The Breach opened, and with my expertise regarding the Fade, it seemed clear what my options were. So, I decided in that moment to help, not considering the position I was putting myself in.”

                “Noble of you,” Blackwall said. “Helping when it would easily put you in the crossfire.”

                Solas paused, “I suppose, others would call it practicality.”

                “Still, its not something most would do,” Blackwall said. “It speaks well of you.”

                The elf frowned the slightest degree, nodding slightly before turning forward. Blackwall paused a few steps, Kassandra bringing up the rear of the group, he waited for her.

                “And what about you?” He asked. “What brought you into this organization?”

                Kassandra exhaled, not sure how to easily put it, she sighed. “One minute, I’m on my ship, next I’m falling into a fiery pit in the water, finding myself in a snowy place with these demons all over.”

                “You fell through a rift?” He asked. “I’ve seen a few of them around, but to come through one? That’s something I’d attest to legend.”

                “Well, I have a few about me, where I’m from,” She said with a shrug. “Though, they tend to exaggerate.”

                Blackwall chuckled, “And where are you from then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

                “Hellas,” She said, at his dumbfounded look she rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, no one else knows where it is either. It’s far from here, and where exactly, I don’t know.”

                The Warden frowned, “Does that mean you’re…pardon my saying so, but you can’t get home?”

                “No,” Kassandra said simply, even as her stomach dropped. “I can’t, not until we find out what happened to the Divine, until then, there’s work to do.”

                Blackwall nodded, “Worthy goals, one’s I’ll support, but I am sorry to bring it up. I didn’t mean to be an uncouth bastard.”

                “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you are,” She said casually. The Warden chuckled.

                “About time I met a woman who kept me honest,” He said, he stopped and realized what he had said. A light dusting a blush appeared under his beard and at his ears, “Heh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

                “It’s alright,” She said, her brown eyes meeting his and sparking with mirth. “I’ll keep you honest, so long as you can stay close and keep up.”

                The Warden smirked, despite a raging blush, “A challenge? I’m up for it, my lady.”

                “Many have said, few have passed,” Kassandra smirked.

                The group walked for another few miles before finding an Inquisition camp close to stronghold, high on a hill in viewing distance. The soldiers there stood up as they approached, “Guardian,” They said and bowed their heads to her, Kassandra waved them off.

                “What do you know of that stronghold?” She asked, pointing. One of the scouts moved forward.

                “Heavily fortified,” He said, “At least a hundred within it, they’ve got a smuggling operation that works through there. Patrols at night under cover of darkness, heavily fortified in the day. We’ve sent agents to get a closer look, most haven’t returned.”

                Kassandra nodded, considering. _I can fight an open battle and clear out a fort, but this…this is far beyond what I’ve attempted before._ She wracked her brain in thought, trying to conceive of a plan. _Why couldn’t Brasidas tell me the finer points of storming a fortress? Or maybe he did, and I just didn’t listen._

                She crossed her arms and frowned in deep thought, the last time she led an assault on a fort, a whole village of people ended up dead because she didn’t strategize. She looked at the people around her, better armed and with some modicum of training no doubt, but not many of them.

                From what Cass had told her, there were only a few hundred Inquisition soldiers in the Hinterlands, not enough to make a siege. And alone, she couldn’t subdue the entire garrison, she’d rather not have to kill all hundred of the smugglers. Not if she could avoid it.

                The scouts looked at her expectantly, waiting for orders. Kassandra thought of all the times she had been sent to weaken an enemies’ position, to strike at the supplies and leadership, weaken and demoralize the troops before the battle. Perhaps she could do something like that now.

                “Do you know the routes or locations of the bandit camps?” She asked, the scouts looked between each other.

                “Some of them,” The scout replied.

                Kassandra nodded, “Find the others, and the routes they’re using by night, that’s likely where their food and arms are coming from. Stop them, we weaken their forces and cut their supplies, and then we have them cornered.”

                The scouts nodded and began to implement orders, Solas approached.

                “Well said, it may work as you say,” The elf said.

                “There’s still a stronghold though,” Varric pointed out. “And the Inquisition doesn’t have enough people to properly siege it.”

                “And not enough to take it, either,” Solas said. “Not without loosening your hold on other areas.”

                Kassandra nodded along, “Unless we don’t take it, at least, not directly.” _They still have their leaders._

Solas and Varric looked at her expectantly, “What are you suggesting?”

                The Misthios turned to them, “Any of you good at climbing?” The question perplexed them.

                “Like…a ladder? Because if you’re talking about a mountain, I’m afraid to tell you dwarves are known for mining them out to live _under_ them. And I’m a bad dwarf,” Varric replied.

                Solas weakly cleared his throat, “I can climb, though I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of strength or speed.”

                The Eagle-Bearer frowned, she could try to do it herself, but that still left her alone to take on the fortress, and this one looked to have more guards than most of the forts she had infiltrated before. Varric had his tricks to get around and disappear from sight, but climbing was essential to what they needed to do.

                “If it please you, I can climb,” Blackwall said, hand on the pommel of his sword.

                Kassandra turned to him, eyebrow piqued in interest, “Oh? How well?”

                Blackwall smirked, pulling off one of his gloves, “With respect, my lady, these hands aren’t just meant for fighting. There’s a mountain in Orlais that I climbed every morning to keep myself strong…Another life, perhaps, but I never gave up the habit.”

                The Misthios considered carefully, assessing Blackwall up and down. _It would be good to see if he was trustworthy enough to guard my back, and after all, the best way to assess someone’s character is through drink, fighting and sex. I’m sure one of those three would be fine, or all, but maybe later._

She stepped forward; eyes fixed on Blackwall’s. To his credit, he didn’t cower or waver from her gaze, standing as tall as he could to meet her gaze. He was at least an inch shorter than her, yet that didn’t seem to emasculate him at all as he met her eyes with determination within them. She stepped up half a foot from him, outermost layers of their clothing almost touching. Brown met blue in stalemate of wills; he wouldn’t shy from her. _Good._

                “Take off your clothes,” Kassandra ordered.

                That made his eyes widen and his ears flush, but he stayed his ground. “Pardon me, my lady?”

                Kassandra smirked.

 

                “Not exactly what I had in mind,” Blackwall whispered as he followed Kassandra through the rocky grasslands to the base of the cliffs that formed the stronghold.

                “What did you have in mind, might I ask?” Kassandra asked, flirtatious intent on the end of her tongue.

                Blackwall huffed in embarrassment, “Not…this.”

                “Disappointed?” Kassandra asked teasingly.

                The Warden stumbled in his words for a few moments, “I wouldn’t put it that way, my lady.”

                She looked back at him, he had removed his gambeson, mail and heavy armor, leaving him in a black undershirt, the sleeves stopping at his shoulders, and simple trousers and his boots. He moved quicker and faster without them, as well as quieter, which were essential for this task they had.

                They arrived at the foot of a cliff near the stronghold, the plan they had was to climb it and then, once on the level ground behind the stronghold, infiltrate it on foot from there. Thus, why Blackwall was down to bare essentials, gloves for climbing, boots for walking, and a knife for fighting, they needed stealth for certain, but climbing was a peril one shouldn’t take a chance on. _Not many can fall like I do and still stand tall from it._

“So, you climbed a mountain everyday for three weeks?” Kassandra asked conversationally as they approached the rock face.

                “I did,” Blackwall said, shrugging. “Not impressive as some, I’m sure. But it was for training, figured if I could climb a mountain, armor would be easier to march in.”

                Kassandra turned to him, “Was it?”

                “It was,” He confirmed, looking to her with a smug look, “Especially after climbing that mountain for two weeks in full mail.”

                Kassandra nodded, impressed, “Glad I brought you along.”

                “What about you my lady, did you have to climb much where you’re from?”

                “Oh yes,” Kassandra said, without missing a beat she scrambled up the rock surface, finding purchase and soon making good time up the rock face. “Mountain, building, boat, slippery cave, I’m certain I’ve climbed them all. And in good time too.”

                She looked down to see Blackwall staring up at her from below with a shocked expression, he was right to, she was already twenty meters high now.

                “Something wrong?” She called teasingly.

                Blackwall shook his head, making his own grasp onto the rock face and soon heaving himself up, “I’ll admit it already my lady, that I’m not certain I can keep up.”

                “Well you haven’t turned back or tried to kill me, so I’d say you’re doing better than most,” Kassandra said.

                Blackwall slowed at this, continuing to climb, but eventually asking, “Your life was under threat before?”

                “Many times,” Kassandra said freely. “I was a mercenary, a cult was actively hunting down my family, and there were creatures of Legends that I had to face.”

                Blackwall chuckled, thinking it a joke, but when he looked up, he saw Kassandra’s face was straight and serious, his eyes widened. “Maker’s Balls.”

                The rest of the climb was made in silence, Kassandra climbing the cliff relatively fast, and making it to the top a good few minutes before Blackwall. Despite his slower start, he had a good pace and the strength he showed in his composure climbing was good as well, he didn’t freeze halfway up at the sight of the way down.

                When he reached the top, Kassandra offered a hand, which he took, kneeling on the ground and taking deep breaths, his face red and slick with sweat from the climb. Kassandra pulled out a waterskin from the Staff’s concealed form, offering it to the Warden who took it and drank deeply. He watched as she returned it to her orb and before his eyes. She had changed her armor earlier while he had undressed, wearing simple clothes of white with golden bracers and greaves.

                “So, where does one find one of those?” He asked.

                “One of a kind, I’m afraid,” She said, turning her gaze towards the horizon. “A keepsake, of sorts.”

                “I see,” Blackwalls said, standing his feet and rolling out his arms. “So, what now?”

                “We wait for the sun to go down,” She said, “Then we strike at the stronghold. “They’ll see us if we strike now, but in shadow and in silence we’ll be fine.”

                The Warden nodded, “We’ve got a few hours yet then. Any good stories?”

                “A few,” Kassandra said, turning to Blackwall, “But I want to know more about you, if you don’t mind. Where are you from?”

                Caught off guard, Blackwall took a second to refocus himself, “Before the Wardens, Markham in the Free Marches, not an important place, but it was home, for a time.”

                “Any family there?” She asked.

                “A sister, Gilly,” He said, his voice taking on an air of strain that Kassandra was all too familiar with. “It’s…been a long time since I’ve written to her. Our father passed some years ago, last I heard she was married and with child.”

                Kassandra smiled fondly at the thought, not the detachment from family, but the idea of family. A simple life, a life not meant for her. She knew it well, the idea, while nostalgic and wistful, was a dream for her. Whether it was her blood or in consequence of her previous actions, she would be followed and hunted, there was no room for a family in there, not one that would be free from danger, and Kassandra refused to have a family if they would suffer for the sins of her past.

                “I hope she’s healthy and happy, wherever she is,” Kassandra said. Blackwall caught her eyes and bowed his head.

                “I appreciate that, my lady.”

                “Please, call me Kassandra, or Eagle-Bearer,” She said.

                “I’m sorry, Kassandra,” He apologized, “Does it bother you to be referred that way?”

                “It’s…just not what I’m used to,” She said earnestly. There was a strange inflection in his voice when he said, something husky, especially with the emphasis on _my_. It might have just been her imagination and that’s how he referred to women, but Kassandra detected an attraction in his voice, and while she wanted to refrain from hearing it at the moment, she didn’t find it unpleasant, quite the opposite. Besides, if his blushes were of any significance, there might be something brewing there.

               

                When night fell, the two stood from their seated position on the cliff and began to move towards the stronghold. Kassandra had let Blackwall sleep for a few hours to rest up while she remained on watch, going over the minutia of their plans.

                The plan was for Kassandra and Blackwall to sneak into the stronghold, find the leaders, and kill them quickly, from there, burn any supplies and sabotage any means of defense for the stronghold. As they did this, Inquisition agents would be striking the smuggler groups at night, thinning their numbers and cutting their supplies from the outside. If all went well, the smugglers would be severally reduced in manpower and resources, without proper leaders to reorganize, Inquisition forces could safely besiege the stronghold and wait for a surrender.

                There were possibilities that the smuggler groups changed routes, that the leaders were absent from the stronghold, that there were more people inside now, or secret entrances and exits from there that would make a siege useless. Kassandra pushed these thoughts from her mind as she focused on her and Blackwall’s task.

                “Are you ready?” She asked him, he nodded firmly, eyes focused on the glinting torches in the near distance. “Stay close.”

                The pair moved on the top of the cliff, steps careful and silent, keeping track off the sheer cliffs edge on their right. As they neared the stronghold the cliff slowly became a hill of steep grass, still hard to climb up, especially when wet with rain or fired upon. At the very least, a fall here wouldn’t be as bad.

                Thankfully neither slipped nor fell down the hill, approaching the fortress from behind. The stronghold was built in a way where it faced the valley in a defensive position, with high hills and cliffs surrounding it. A frontal attack would be costly and hard to breach, but an attack from behind on the hills? There were no walls at the back to defend, it was as easy as walking in through the back unnoticed.

                This was what the pair did, crouched low to the ground, they slipped their way into the stronghold from behind, the bandits were so confident of their security they didn’t have anyone guard the back of the fortress. While arrogant, it was advantageous to them, and with the darkness set in and no light of the moon cast, the sentries had either torches or braziers lighting their areas.

                Blackwall, crouched next to her, eyes counting the torches, “Where to?” He whispered.

                “You go right, I go left,” Kassandra said, drawing her spear. “Take out the brazier to signal you’ve taken care of the sentries, their leader will either be sleeping or in the center, we’ll meet there. If they’re in a group, don’t attack.”

                “And if things go wrong?” He asked.

                Kassandra smirked dangerously, “Run.”

                She didn’t give him a chance to respond as she pulled up her hood and made her way into the shadows, her white clothing blending into the stone. With practiced ease, the Misthios snaked her way around the corner of the stone walkway, towards one of the towers, next to the brazier were two soldiers, one archer and one heavily armed soldier, his hammer by his feet. _Don’t want to be on the receiving end of that._

                Even in Darkness, Kassandra could see her enemies, keenly able to sense them even if concealed in shadows. As she approached, she recalled words her mother Myrrine had spoken to her, when she was a child.

                _“Remember Kassandra, you must use all your senses, doubly so when hunting. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they can’t see you. The same goes for you. You have eyes, yes, but ears, as well, you can feel the earth shake when a large animal in near, do not ignore these other senses. They are key to survival and victory.”_

Kassandra opened her eyes, able to make out the shape of the sentries’ greaves even through stone and shadow, a gift of her lineage, or so she was told. _I don’t even know who sired me._

                The Misthios approached from darkness, spotting and picking up a rock by her foot and deftly throwing it to the left of the pair, it made a sharp smack against the far part of the fortifications. The sentries, keenly aware both turned to look, they whispered a few words before the archer went to look, leaving the large warrior alone.

                Silent as a ghost, Kassandra made her way down the path, hugging the low wall and keeping her eyes on the two sentries. She stopped at the corner, a short throws distance from the warrior while the archer was some four meters away, peering into the darkness of the bereft fortifications.

                “See anything?” The warrior asked, taking two steps forward. Taking her chance, Kassandra stood up her spear glinting off the brazier’s light hungrily.

                “Nothing,” The archer said, shaking their head.

                Kassandra grabbed the warrior by the mouth, holding him as her spear pierced his chest. His armor, composed of leather and ringlets of iron, did nothing against her spear. His body dropped silently as Kassandra carried his weight down, approaching the archer next.

                “I guess we’re in the clear,” The archer said.

                “Good,” Kassandra said aloud. The sentry turned around in confusion at the voice, only for the spear to pierce his throat and silence him. The Misthios, already feeling his weight go slack, pulled him over her back and headed over to the edge of the fortification, dropping the body off the edge. He fell limply, and when his body hit the bottom, there wasn’t even a sound. Kassandra disposed of the other body similarly, at that point overturning the brazier to signal the west eastern tower was down.

                She looked over to see the brazier on the other side was out, in a few moments she saw the light go out, Blackwall had succeeded. _Having a partner makes this all seem so much easier_ , she thought proudly. Making her way towards the center of the stronghold. It had a view of the northern valley as well as a view of the lower wall and courtyard, the most likely place for plans, maps or even the leader.

                Kassandra made her way there, eyes flickering and counting the soldiers, from what she saw, there was at least seven of them. In the heart of them, a large man with a great sword lain against a table illuminated by candlelight. _One guess who leads._ She thought to herself.

                As she observed, she looked over to see a figure moving in the darkness, she soon recognized it as Blackwall when his blue eyes penetrated the darkness, he remained crouched as he neared her. “How was that?”

                “Good, but I’ve seen better,” Kassandra said with a teasing smile, Blackwall chuckled under his breath.

                “And now?”

                “Now, we need to get in there and take out the leader,” Kassandra pointed out the large man over the map. “Once we take him out, we look to the documents, see if there’s anything worth keeping, find any remaining supplies, then get out.”

                She turned to him, “Any questions?”

                “How are we going to clear out the seven of them?” Blackwall asked.

                Kassandra considered a moment, before smirking, the Warden sighed at the sight of it, “Great, now I’m to be naked?”

               

                Alas, Blackwall would not be naked today, instead, he served as a distraction.

                “Intruder! Help!” He shouted, wearing the armor of the fallen archer still hidden in the bushes and waving around in panic. The leader waved his underlings off, too engrossed in the map to care, and just like that, his guards left, leaving him alone with an Assassin watching from the shadows. Kassandra emerged, spear in hand and slowly approaching.

                She needed to do this quickly, because Blackwall’s ruse risked waking the whole garrison, and that would make their job so much harder, but it would have been raised anyways due to the act Kassandra aimed to commit by killing the commander. Either way, they would have a fight getting out. Which was an easier prospect was hard to say, but this seemed to Kassandra the best option.

                She crept towards the commander, spear ready, she was within a meter when she tensed and lunged forward as she had always done. This time however, the commander moved, whether by hearing her or his attention suddenly shifting to the right, she didn’t know, all she did know was that instead of his chest, her spear went through his shoulder, and his shocked gasp made Kassandra curse.

                “Oh Malaka!” She muttered, just as a massive fist struck her in the face and sent her rolling to her knees and into a crouch.

                She stood up; eyes narrowed on the man before her. He was tall and burly, with a thick beard of blonde, and cruel blue eyes as he assessed her. Seeming to ignore the wound to his shoulder, he reached behind him, pulling aloft his great sword, and staring her down. Kassandra flashed a cocksure smirk, one she had given to the various mercenaries, generals and cultists who had found themselves in this position against her.

                She drew her sword, it flashed gold in the light of the torches and candles. The commander charged, holding his sword aloft and swinging wide to bisect Kassandra at her waist. She rolled under the blade, used to the tactic, more recently with the fallen Templar Commander, this time however, she had learned from that close bout.

                Kassandra came out of her roll, ending up behind the commander, her spear went through his calf pulled all the way through, then his thigh, she stood up, slashing him across the back with her sword as she did so. He fell to his knees grunting out in pain. With a weary sigh and practiced ease, Kassandra stabbed her sword through his torso, piercing his heart and killing him in an instant.

                She pulled the sword from his body, letting him fall to the ground. He wasn’t like the Templar Commander, someone who fought her well and had something on the line to win, something worth saving. He wasn’t someone Kassandra considered fighting honorably, he was just someone else who stood in her way and needed to be removed. But, that mentality hadn’t silenced the many ghosts that continued to plague her.

                Exhaling, the Misthios went to the table, inspecting the maps. They had routes on them, as well as a few that led further into the hills. If the staff was translating for her correctly, these smugglers had been taking Lyrium from a nearby entrance to the Deep Roads from the Carta. She had read and asked enough to know these terms and what that meant, now, they knew were to track the source of all this.

                Kassandra grabbed the maps and letters, storing them in the orb and making way out of the command area to find Blackwall, _Hopefully, he gave the bodyguards the slip._

                What she found instead was Blackwall surrounded by unconscious smugglers, all groaning and mumbling on the ground in pain. The Warden’s borrowed armor was gone, and judging by the pieces on the ground, it had been broken apart. He looked up as she approached, shrugging.

                “How did I do, Kassandra?” He asked, smirking behind his beard. Kassandra nodded, impressed.

                “Not bad,” Movement flickered behind him and on instinct she threw her spear past him and slashing the arms of an archer behind him. “Though you missed one.”

                Blackwall’s smirk grew, he gestured, “Call us even then? Come on then, there’s more to do before we’re done.”

                “Indeed,” Kassandra smiled, pulling her hood up again, the two moved into the shadows.

 

                When dawn rose on the Stronghold of the Bandits, it was a much different fortress, smoke billowed from the courtyard, the precious supplies of weapons and food had been burned in the night, at least a dozen of the guards were dead or missing, and their commander, along with his maps and letters were gone. Not to mention the treasure they had collectively hoarded. To add insult to injury as well as claim their distressed ire, the Inquisition stood outside the fortress in force. The remaining bandit and smugglers, knowing a defense or breakout was impossible, surrendered within an hour of the sun’s rise.

                As this happened, Kassandra and Blackwall visited a stream near the Inquisition camp, a simple leisure to wash away the blood, dirt and sweat from their task. Of course, the water had to be freezing, but after a long march down from the Stronghold, it was more relieving than anything.

                “So, how did I do, Kassandra?” Blackwall asked casually.

                The Misthios smiled, “You did well, Blackwall. I think it was a good decision to accept you into our fold.”

                He smiled, “I appreciate that, my lady. Truly,” He then cursed, “Sorry, you don’t like that, I’ll remember to-“

                “It’s alright,” Kassandra said with an easy smile, “Truthfully, I had you stop saying it because it was distracting me.”

                Blackwall frowned, “Distracting? How?”

                Kassandra smirked dangerously, “It was too…pleasant to the ears. Too much for me to focus on the task anyways, your voice is attractive.”

                Blackwall’s eyes widened, “Oh…uh, I hadn’t realized…”

                “Well you do now,” Kassandra said flippantly, standing up and turning to leave.

                “Kassandra, wait!” He said suddenly, she turned looking at him curiously.

                “Yes?”

                “I have to ask how this is fair? You’ve made me blush and fumble since we’ve first met, and yet you hold yourself so calm and certain. If you mean to tease and torment me, Kassandra, don’t. I am not quick to anger, but I ask you to not torment my feelings, especially regarding those of a more…intimate nature,” Blackwall said with such certainty and openness that Kassandra was momentarily stunned. _All this time and he thought I was mocking him? I know the relationships of this place are more static and less spontaneous than back home, but to think I was taunting him?_

                Kassandra took two steps down the slope of the stream to him, her face serious and bereft of humor, her eyes soft and open. “I did not mean to insult you, Blackwall. That’s not my intent, where I’m from, we are…more open with affection, whether it is seriously considered or not. That is simply how I am, and if it bothers you, I can and will stop. But I don’t do it to torment you.”

                Blackwall chuckled, “You don’t mean to tell me you have feelings for me?”

                “No,” Kassandra said, and Blackwall, caught off guard, almost looked disappointed. She smiled. “Not yet anyways, but I recognize a good man and an attractive one at that.”

                Without further word, Kassandra climbed up back to camp leaving Blackwall staring after her, or perhaps just her ass, either way, he was captivated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this chapter was just...uhg, I enjoyed writing it, but I enjoyed writing too much in some spaces. Like the flirting between Blackwall and Kassandra as I first wrote it was sooooo aggressive and in your face, and kind of made Kassandra unlikable in my opinion, even then this is just a good seven thousand words of Kassandra teasing and flirting up Blackwall. Tough to write with the stealth stuff, let me tell ya. And the bandit leader? Oh yeah, there was supposed to be a fight, but I was too lazy to write it out and decided to show it as Kassandra learning from previous battles and not toying with her opponent. Besides, there's a lot of people Kassandra has to fight going forward, and I'd rather not get stuck on this one. Besides, the chapter was long enough. 
> 
> On the subject of Blackwall however, I have a question to you dear readers. While writing this chapter I had a few ideas come to mind concerning our dear old false-warden and honestly I was considering an angle with Blackwall that no one has made yet as far as I recall. I wanted to know if you all would mind seeing Blackwall in this piece with a different backstory than canon? I know officially this is fanfiction and I can do whatever I want save for claim credit for the characters and worlds, but I still wanted to run it by you guys. Might even try to do a poll if I can figure it out. 
> 
> So I'm putting it to you all, would you like to see Blackwall with a different backstory this time around or would you prefer it remains in canon? 
> 
> I cannot disclose what changes I want to make with Blackwall's backstory as of right now, but I want you all to have a say if it should be implemented. The one thing I can say, there will only be one lying boyfriend in the world of Dragon Age Inquisition if you all accept my idea. I think, maybe. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading, please post your thoughts, comments and questions down below.
> 
> -DariusSobreitus.


	7. Dalliance and Alliance

Sylva did not like Orlais. It wasn’t just its troubled history with the Dalish elves, or the fact its Empire was built upon the corpse of the elves’ old country, or even the strange cutthroat culture that took up every city and person from Empress to commoner. No, the thing that perturbed her most about Orlais was the way in which the citizens, all wearing masks, would look down their carved noses at her, even as they tried to hide their fear.

                It was how they tried to act when she first arrived, trying to be tall and elegant as they approached, but the visible shaking in their shoulders and knees gave them away all too easily. Even as they tried to look at her in contempt, their eyes were still wide behind the masks they wore. Thankfully Cass was there to shoo them away, otherwise Sylva might have made them wet themselves with her glares.

                A brief and cathartic respite had come while in Orlais when the Templars arrived, only to ignore her and Cass, going straight to assault a Chantry sister. If not for just seeing a vitriolic member of the chantry knocked down a few pegs, it also played into their hands, as it had been a Templar and not Sylva who had attacked the Chantry members.

                Despite the guards and civilians gawking uselessly at the spectacle, it was paying off if the spies’ reports were true, as it portrayed the Inquisition in a better light than the Templars. Cass had been upset regarding the Lord Seeker being there and doing nothing to stop his people from beating bladeless sisters. Outside of that, there had been some good things to come after that, a messenger from a ‘Madame de Fer’ inviting her to a ball.

                If that wasn’t enough, they had been approached by Enchantress Fiona, the leader of the Rebel Mages in Redcliffe, her presence was a surprise, but she had offered an opportunity to meet and ally with the Inquisition. While Cass hadn’t approved on the outset, she had seemed willing to explore options at least.

                That done, they had retired to an ambassador’s manor, small by Orlesian standards, it was three stories tall with a full courtyard, several rooms simply for clothing, and even a heated pool to wash in. Needless to say, after the two had washed there, they relaxed in a lounge, wearing thick robes of bright colors.

                “That was a disaster,” Cass groaned, leaning back on the ornate chaise. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Orlais is nothing if not complex.”

                Sylva snorted, “You’ve been here before?”

                “Yes, I spent much of my life as a Seeker in Orlais, it’s the heartland of the Chantry, and often where the Divine hails from,” Cass said, almost laying down in the bath. “Not that is comes with a completely admirable history.”

                “Definitely not,” Sylva agreed. “Still, people noticed us, and we have some ball to attend to as well as a possible ally in Fiona.”

                “I would not discount the Templars yet,” Cass said, “There are some who might see reason where the Lord Seeker does not.”

                “Maybe,” Sylva acknowledged, “But I wonder how many of them would be willing to work with an apostate?”

                Cass smirked, “You’d be surprised how lenient Templars can become with their own code when the time calls for it. There have been a few I’ve met over the years who have would rather fight beside a Mage than watch over them.”

                “Oh really?”

                “Magic will always have its uses, and to ignore those possibilities is folly.”

                Sylva snorted disdainfully, “It’s always about use isn’t it? Never mind that people are just fucking born with it, no control or ability to suppress it, and anyone can kill you just because you can summon fire to your hands. But no, lets focus on how we can exploit these powers and use the people as tools for our own fucking means.”

                Cass frowned, “That’s not how the Chantry views Mages.”

                “Oh, I’m sorry, ‘tools’ is too impersonal, I meant pets,” Sylva proclaimed scornfully. “Keep them locked up, watered and fed, like good little pups, but when they wet the bed or nip, off with their heads!”

                “It’s not that simple,” The Seeker said, sitting up in the water. “Demons or even corrupt Mages can kill scores of people, thousands if unchecked. Kirkwall is proof enough, with more than a few Blood Mages cutting swaths through the population.”

                “Oh, and Meredith wasn’t adding fuel?” Sylva asked. “Making Tranquil of anyone who put one toe out of line? Tightening her grip on them until they could barely breathe with how much they were choked?”

                “That…” Cass paused, exhaling in defeat. “You are correct that Meredith crossed many lines. Many in the Chantry felt that the rampancy of Blood Magic justified her actions…But one must only ask how they kept escaping her clutches and how the situation never fared better, especially after seven years.”

                “Maybe because she was just fucking incompetent, you ever think about that?” Sylva asked bitterly. The Seeker glared at her, her eyes as hard as stone, but she seemed to have enough composure to keep from snapping.

                “This…isn’t about Kirkwall at all, is it?”

                Sylva’s tension was relaxed by a fraction. “No, it isn’t. At least…not directly.”

                Cass sighed, standing from the chaise, crossing her arms, “I will not press you if it is unwarranted, but I don’t want to leave this as an opened wound.”

                Sylva exhaled, turning in the middle of the bath, “Let’s just say that some Templars don’t care for what the Dalish practice, if they have the strength, they will storm a camp to kill or capture what they consider an apostate.”

                The elf rushed to the edge of the bath, taking up her own towel and covering herself, “Tell me, Cassandra, have you heard of a warranted attack on Dalish elves in the past? One wherein the Templars were forced to intervene?”

                The Seeker frowned, “Perhaps a few, but I neither have the memory of or the context for those attacks.”

                “There was one such attack that took my mother away from me, not because she was a apostate or even practiced Blood Magic, but by the Chantry laws, an Apostate cannot live outside a circle. And so, they killed her when she refused to submit to their authority,” Sylva made her way from the bath. “That’s why I will not put my faith in Templars, not unless I have no other choice.”

                The elf’s departure left a hollow ache in Cass’ chest, _She, lashes out in anger not because I am the reason for her anger, but because I am associated with those who have hurt her?_ The Seeker considered the response, _It’s not as if I acted any different when I thought her responsible for Divine Justinia’s death._

Cass left the lounge, following in the wake of Sylva’s angry departure.

 

                “You can stop following me, Seeker,” Syvla called as she wandered the darkened streets of Val Royeaux. She had dressed and left the manor to gather her wits and flee the pain she felt, freshly opened as if it were yesterday. Yet the Seeker had stubbornly followed her.

                “I promised to keep you safe, Herald,” She replied obstinately. “And I intend to. Val Royeaux is not like the Free Marches and Ferelden.”

                Sylva rolled her eyes, “They’re still people trying to kill me.”

                “True, but here they’ll pretend to befriend you before sticking a dagger in your throat, or lacing your tea with poison, or even framing another for your murder,” Cass said, coming to walk beside Sylva. “They might be more polite about it, but the people of Val Royeaux kill like any other, and scheme so much more.”

                “Still sounds better than Tevinter,” Sylva said. Cass couldn’t stop the smirk that came upon her face.

                “On that, we can agree.”

                The two walked in silence, Sylva quietly accepting the Seeker’s presence without issue, the night was warm and humid, pleasant to the elf who needed a refreshing breath of air…if the perfumes hadn’t already fouled the air with their scent.

                As they walked, Sylva took notice of something, an arrow protruding from a column, a red handkerchief tied around it. She frowned, and continued on the path, finding another on the same side of the road, same arrow, fletching and red cloth.

                Cass noted too and frowned, “We should return to the manor.”

                “Let’s…see how this plays out first,” Sylva said. “If someone were out for us, they’d have already stuck us.”

                “Unless it’s a trap,” Cass pointed out.

                Sylva turned to her and grinned, “A trap is only a trap if we don’t know it’s a trap.”

                The Seeker groaned, but followed as Sylva pursued a trial through the city shown by the arrows in columns leading them deeper into the Capital. The pair felt something amiss as the trail of arrows led them deeper into the city, away from the main street and into shifty and dark alleyways.

                Sylva had brought her staff with her, and Cass had her sword and shield with some light mail, they weren’t exactly ready for an Ogre, but well enough to take on anything that came their way.

                Such as dodging fire, which Sylva had to do.

                They had left one alley behind, arriving at a split stairway to a higher street when flames erupted from the shadows. The first blast nearly struck her in the chest, until she swerved, Sylva was able to raise her staff and block the flaming orbs before they struck her or the Seeker.

                From the shadows a man in a horribly bright yellow and cream catastrophe unfolded himself, how he had been obscured by shadow so effectively, the elf could only guess at. _Bet there’s a spell for that._

                The man, now fully out of the shadows, did the stupid thing by standing in plain view of the two, and posturing instead of continuing to attack. Though to be fair, a handful of guards stepped out behind him.

                “So…the great Herald has found me,” He said with a thick air of self-importance. He shook his head, “How much resources did it take you? It must have weakened the Inquisition considerably!”

                Sylba blinked owlishly, “Uh…” She turned to Cass who shrugged in response. “I…don’t know who you are.”

                The man huffed, “Do not lie to me! My operations have been under attack since you arrived in the Capital! That is no coincidence! Now, tell me, how did you-?”

                He was interrupted when his guards screamed out in shock, surprise and pain. Sylva looked up in surprise to see arrows sprouting from all of them. Looking up, she just able to make out a woman in red with a bow drawn, and arrow knocked.

                “Just say, ‘what’!” She called.

                The man turned to her, “What is the meaning-“

                The arrow was loosed and found its way through his mouth and out his skull. _Not a small target,_ Sylva thought in an attempt to keep confusion from stopping her still. It didn’t help when the woman approached the fresh corpse to extract her arrow.

                “Bloody rich-tits and their running mouths! You heard me, yeah? ‘Just say what’? And what’s he do? He asks ‘what?’” She snorted to herself, pulling her arrow from him. “Blablabla, obey me! Ooh! Wassit? An arrow in my face!”

                She wiped the blood and gore on the dead man’s tunic, oddly making it look better before turning to the two. “Right then, so you’re the Herald thingy, yeah?” Her gaze locked onto Sylva, or rather on her vallaslin and ears. “Aaaaand, your an elf.” She sighed.

                “I-“ Sylva began.

                “But its all good innit? The important thing; you glow right? Good hands?” She paused and laughed at her own words. “Oh! Because that was funny if you-nevermind. Right, you’re Herald thing, right?”

                “Well-“ Sylva tried again.

                “Well good! Anyway, you’re probably wondering, ‘whos this and what do they want?’ well here’s how it is,” She continued, raising her hands. “Your up here,” She moved her hands down, “I’m down here. And my friends, the friends of Red Jenny, that’s me, are there too, and we can do things you can’t! People high up are all about crushing, but down here, we can do more than crush! We can steal, cheat, spy, motivate, all that good stuff! Best part? No one suspects us!”

                Sylva held out her hands, “Okay, okay, okay…hold on for a second,” She demanded, at the other woman’s silence, she continued. “Who are you? Who was that? Did you leave the arrows? Red Jenny who is that, why is that, and why come to me? How do you even know me? And what has any of this got to do with my being an Elf?”

                The Herald was angry, red in the face, and very confused at the situation, Cass standing next to her was similarly flummoxed. The woman however didn’t react defensively or apologetically, instead, she laughed, not quite hysterical, but a cavalcade of amused snorts and giggles escaped her. “Oh! You are hilarious when your cheeks puff up!” She imitated what Sylva must have looked like, said woman was ready to bash this woman’s head in with her staff at this stage, Cass looking equally annoyed.

                “Alright, here it is then. Name’s Sera. A bloke too big for his breeches. Yes! Its me and my friends. Because we want things back to normal. You kind of stand out in a crowd. Oh, I just don’t like elves trying to wave their elfiness in my face, y’know? Nothing personal.”

                Sylva blinked owlishly at the rapid response to her questions, she pinched the bridge of nose, “Okay…so you’re either Red Jenny or Friends with her…You want the world back in order, found me here in Val Royeaux, let arrows guide me to this guy who you needed a distraction to take down and you want to help the Inquisition?”

                Sera shrugged, “Pretty much, yeah.”

                “Okay…” Sylva began cautiously. “And what exactly what do we gain from accepting your offer?”

                The blonde blew a raspberry, “Pfft, told ya! Eyes and ears on the ground looking out for the little people while your lords and armies scrap! Someone’s gotta do it!”

                There was a pause as Sylva shared a look with Cass, she gestured back and the two walked a short distance away, talking in hushed voices.

                “So…what do you think?” Sylva asked.

                Cass looked over back at Sera, and sighed. “I’m not sure that this Sera is the most…stable or mindful of allies,” She said firmly. “But…we would be remiss to discount the resources she offers…assuming she’s true to her word.”

                “I mean…she doesn’t seem the type to come up with clever ploys? At least, not believable ones?” Sylva said in a weak defense.

                “Did she not lead us here to that Mage?” Cass asked.

                “Action is one thing, but he jumped to the conclusion we were here for him so really, that’s on him,” The Herald sighed. “Look, the best I can say, is that she talks too much to hide anything…and I’m inclined to believe her. I say we take her on, for now at least.”

                The Seeker reluctantly nodded, the two turned back towards Sera, waiting for them idly. As they approached, she perked up.

                “Well?”

                Sylva took the initiative to speak, “We accept your and your friends’ help, Sera. For now, at least, were not certain how we can use you as of now.”

                “Yes!” Sera thrust her fist into the air. “Don’t worry about that, Herald! It’ll sort itself! I’ll see you in Haven! Lots to do, many to prank! Oh! This will be grand!”

                In a fit of excited hysteria, the blonde elf exited the alleyway and left Sylva with Cass, both blinking owlishly. They looked at each other, and in a silent pledge, turned and walked back to the manor without saying another word.

                ~

                “So, this is Redcliffe?” Kassandra asked, sheathing her sword and spear, the gates having been open for them when they fought off a group of demons.

                “Yeah, trust me, it’s seen better days,” Varric said, hoisting Bianca onto his back.

                Blackwall kicked a corpse of a demon off to the side as he entered the gate. “The epicenter of the last Blight, now near the Breach, can’t say it’s the luckiest of places.”

                The Misthios removed her helmet, “Well, if the scouts are right, this is where we’ll find the Mages.”

                At that precise moment, an Inquisition scout approached, “Champion, Ser. Grand Enchantress Fiona wishes to speak with you and your party in the castle.”

                Raising an eyebrow, Kasssandra looked to the others in the group. Solas spoke first, “The Mages here aren’t the ones we’ve been fighting. They’ve been trying to keep to themselves and were even invited here by the Arl of Redcliffe.”

                Nodding, Kassandra looked to the scout, “Did they say we needed to be relieved of our weapons?”

                The scout shook their head, “No, Ser. They only said to come with your party.”

                Usually weary of traps and misdirection, Kassandra felt oddly at ease and unperturbed by the invitation. More intuitive than by any factual backing, but given the lack of reason to decline, she nodded her head.

                “Tell them we’re on our way,” Kassandra told the scout, who nodded and made off again.

                The path to the castle was over a bridge of stone, part of it being a draw bridge that could be pulled up if so desired. It was a good distance up the hill, and the small party had to make their way through much of the village first.

                If there were doubts about who they were dealing with, they were gone then. The Mages were all about the village, but instead of the wicked and ravenous ones they had encountered, gaunt and drunk on power, the ones here were mostly children and older. There were many in their prime, mostly tending to villagers, many making poultices, potions and treating the sick and wounded. The people around them interacted freely and without fear. Even in her short time in this land, Kassandra had seen enough thralls to know who was possessed and who wasn’t. It mostly was the way they moved and interacted with the environment, hollow, and listless. Like a moving set of armor without the soldier within. If she concentrated on blood thralls, she could see them glow red to her eyes.

                No one in this part of the village read to her like that, if anything, most of the people seemed to be relieved at their presence.

                “Funny what killing a few demons will do for you, huh?” Varric asked lowly. Kassandra smirked.

                “If it keeps them friendly with us, I won’t complain,” Kassandra replied.

                The group approached the bridge and crossed it, waiting at the gates to the impressive fortress with higher towers than Kassandra had ever seen, was waifish woman, an elf with short black hair and green eyes. She was dressed as a Mage, but lacked her staff. As they neared, she bowed.

                “Inquisition?” She asked.

                Kassandra nodded, “We’re here to speak to Grand Enchantress Fiona.”

                “That’s me,” She said, bowing her head.

                “I’m Kassandra,” The Misthios said, offering her arm which the Enchantress took. “You wished to speak to us?”

                Fiona nodded, “This way please.”

                They were led into the castle, several armed guards and Mages stood in the courtyard, but none offered more than respectful vows. Kassandra for her part was impressed at the number of both soldiers and Mages, large enough to beat back anything from the valley. She understood now that they were on the backfoot here, this castle could empty and flood the Hinterlands, defeat all the Inquisition forces in the area, and be done. The fact they had called them to negotiate, meant something great or ill for their cause.

                Still, Kassandra didn’t sense any deception among those around her. She had been wrong before, but she’d been wrong enough times to trust her instincts.

                They were led in the castle and brought to a great hall, there, they were invited to sit at a dining table, while servants went to fetch them drinks. Leaving the group of four with Fiona and a young aide by her side. Moment later, a tall, weathered man entered the room, a rich tunic of crimson red adorned him, his brown hair was long and wavy.

                “Hello, Inquisition. I am Arl Teagan, by the Command of King Alistair, I was ordered to allow the Rebel Mages refuge here,” He took a seat. “As such, I will take part of these negotiations, as an envoy of Ferelden, and the landowner of where the Mages dwell.”

                His tone was firm and resolute, his blue eyes piercing as they stared at Kassandra. Despite his foreboding words and appearance, the Misthios believed it to be for show, like a General trying to inspire confidence in himself and his soldiers on the eve of battle. She’d seen that before too.

                Fiona cleared her throat, likely wanting to dispel any ill feelings and get negotiations underway.

                “I know opinions of Mages have been…strained as of late…and so I wish to say I am grateful for your deciding to come and speak with us,” Fiona began gracefully. “We’ve noticed your efforts in the valley, you’ve not only stopped the madness of those Mages who gave into their base desires, but also the Templars who looted and pillaged.”

                “And of course, we would be remiss to ignore the Demons you’ve stopped,” Teagan added. Fiona nodded to the Arl.

                “Of course. That is all to say that, we wanted to discuss, jointly, what the Inquisition presence means, and what long term goals you have?” Fiona asked.

                Kassandra realized belatedly that everyone was looking to her, Varric was a storyteller and not a diplomat, Blackwall had been with them for less than two weeks, and Solas besides being an elf and Apostate, didn’t seem to want the responsibility, leaving the Misthios to negotiate on behalf of the Inquisition.

                Clearing her throat, she forced a smile, “It…was our pleasure to help in these troubled times,” She began stiffly. Kassandra wasn’t no word smith, preferring action to words at times, but it wasn’t as if any action would gain good will in a negotiation table. Josephine had tried to give her some lessons on etiquette in the case of negotiations, but that had been nearly a month ago, and Kassandra had long forgotten the nuances she had lectured on.

                Panicking internally, Kassandra decided to be herself, no amount of etiquette would help her graces, which in her mind were very few.

                “As far as the long-term goals of the Inquisition,” She shrugged. “At this stage, we want to stop the chaos that’s consuming the land, find the one responsible for the Divine’s death. We don’t know how hand-in-hand they go, but we’re looking into it now. When we find them, we’ll bring them to justice, and finish sealing the rifts around Thedas. Anything beyond that, I don’t know.”

                The honesty surprised both Teagan and Fiona, who’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s…surprisingly forward of you, Kassandra, was it?” Teagan asked.

                She shrugged, “I’m a warrior, I’m not good with half-truths, lies or deceit. Why they had me negotiate, I don’t know. What I do know is that if we’re going to find out who killed the Divine, we need allies.”

                “Do you wish to ally with the Mages or Ferelden then?” Fiona asked.

                Kassandra shrugged again, “Why not both?”

                Teagan had dropped his frosty disposition and smiled, chuckling deeply in his chest. “I like you, Kassandra. I worried you’d have an Orlesian sense of diplomacy, the one where we all end up with a dagger in our backs.”

                The Misthios shook her head, “I don’t blend diplomacy with violence if I can help it,” She said. “And trust me, I’ve had to before.”

                Teagan nodded, “I believe it, and I understand. Sometimes its not so easy,” He took a drink of his goblet. “But I appreciate the candid nature you’ve presented to us. And I would remiss to dismiss your efforts out of hand.”

                “Clearing out the demons, Apostates and Templars wasn’t easy, no,” Varric quipped.

                “So,” Teagan said, placing his goblet back on the table. “What manner of relationship do you see the Inquisition, Ferelden and the Rebel Mages having?”

                The question was one Kassandra wasn’t suited to answer, she had authority from the council at Haven to do what was necessary to push the Inquisition forward…but how did she know what that was or what shape that took? She could only guess, but she had to figure this stuff out now? Really?

                Clearing her throat, Kassandra sat up straighter in her chair, “I suppose, we help each other? Keep each other informed of rumors, reports and anything we should know about. Share resources, supplies, soldiers as we need them, and kill the bastards who ripped a hole in the sky and brought us all together?” She reached and took a goblet from the table, downing the sweet ale in one long gulp, setting it down and meeting the eyes of Fiona and Teagan.

                Teagan wore a grin that spread across his face, Fiona beamed pleasantly. Both stood up, Kassandra mirroring them.

                “That’ll do for us,” Teagan said, offering his arm, which Kassandra took. “There will be more strenuous details to come, I’m sure. For now, I’m satisfied to ride to Denerim personally to inform the King and Queen in person. That is if you have no objections, Grand Enchanter?”

                The elf paused, “And of my people? My mages?”

                Kassandra looked to her party, no one said anything for or against anything, it seemed they were equally if not more out of depth than she was. She shrugged. “So long as they don’t summon demons or hurt anyone, I have no issue with you retaining your independence.”

                Fiona smiled, touched and elated, she turned to Teagan, “Then we are agreed.”

                “Excellent!” Teagan cried, moving around the table and wrapping an arm around Kassandra’s shoulders, “Come! We’ll have a feast, then tomorrow I’ll be riding for Denerim, till then, we dance, we drink and laugh until the Maker groans for us to be quiet.”

                Kassandra grinned, “I’ll match that!” She said, the infectious nature of Teagan’s enthusiasm already getting to her. He made his way ahead to the banquet hall, while Kassandra and her companions followed, energetic as a young man. The Arl reminded her fondly of Barnabas and Sokrates back home.

                The thought gave her pause, Sokrates and Barnabas…they…where did they think she was now? Barnabas had seen her fall; did he think she was dead? Was there a way to know? Once again thoughts of leaving in search of her friends crossed her mind, but she didn’t give weight to them. Even if she set out in the proper direction, would she find home? The stars were different wherever she was, and with no maps of her land in reference to Thedas, there was no telling how far Hellas was, or if she could find it on her own.

                A gloved hand was placed on her shoulder, shaking her from her thoughts. “W-what?” She asked, seeing the person before was Blackwall.

                “Are you alright, milady?” He asked quietly, “You looked…pale.”

                Kassandra chuckled avoidingly, “No, I was just,” At the Warden’s piercing gaze, she stopped and sighed, lowering her voice to just above a whisper, “I…miss home…and worried if I’ll find it again.”

                “If it comes down to it, I’ll help you find it, if you want me to,” He said kindly. Kassandra smiled.

                “How do you feel about the sea?” At the green look that crossed the Warden’s face, Kassandra chuckled. “Not a friend?”

                Blackwall cleared his throat, “Nor an enemy, but…if you needed me, I’d brave it.”

                “For months?” Kassandra asked teasingly.

                “If I had to,” He said bravely, Kassandra smiled.

                “Be careful, Warden Blackwall, I might start to care for you,” She teased, sauntering her way after Teagan, a lavish banquet already being assembled. Blackwall followed after her shortly, smirking.

                “Heh, if you fell for every fool who dared to brave seasickness, I doubt I’d be anything special.”

                Kassandra mused, “Oh, you’d be surprised. Seeing people able to stand being on the sea is a strong testament to their character, even if they’re not the strongest of stomach, the effort and will is worthy enough.”

                Blackwall chuckled, “Well, assuming we find the Divine’s killer and assuming I don’t have pressing duties with the Wardens, we’ll find out along the way, won’t we?”

                “So long as I don’t scare you off first,” Kassandra teased again, leading the way into the banquet.

It wasn’t the sedate nature of a symposium, and that was fine with her, food was prepared and brought out shortly, musicians tuned their instruments and began to play. Faster and livelier than anything Kassandra had before, the only thing that came close in her mind was one night when a friendly group of Hunters of Artemis allowed her into their camp, partying to morning with no care in the world.

                This was much the same, Mages, soldiers and people, all laughed, drank and danced with each other, as Teagan had promised. As for her companions, while Varric and Blackwall drank together, Solas remained in the corner of the corner of the room, observing, rather than partaking. Kassandra approached.

                “You alright, Solas?” She asked, he looked up in surprise and nodded.

                “I am fine, this isn’t my usual idea of a good time however,” He said. Kassandra chortled, “Maybe you should be at a Symposium, might be more to your taste.”

                He frowned, “A symposium?”

                “Where I’m from, some cities have Symposiums, a meeting of the elites, poets and philosophers,” She explained. “The most exciting it gets is when one of them is trying to prank another without getting caught.”

                Solas laughed, a genuine chuckle, when he did, Kassandra noticed he looked much younger and less strained. She didn’t even notice either of these qualities until he did laugh.

                “It sounds like… like some of the events in the Fade I’ve seen, memories of such social gatherings, ones I’ve visited often,” He said fondly, a nostalgic smile on his face. “I suppose you miss it?”

                Kassandra sighed, “I know I miss the people, but…I don’t think I’m smart enough to have enjoyed the topics they discussed.”

                “You don’t think yourself intelligent?” Solas asked.

                “Not at all,” She said. “Raised to defend myself, I made my way through the world with a sword, and the right words…didn’t come to me when they mattered. Why the Inquisition decided to let me lead here and lead in negotiations, I don’t know.”

                Solas looked around, and gestured, “Because you give results,” He said. “The Hinterlands is scourged of demons, Templars, and Apostates, with no shortage of effort from you. And now, we have a prospective alliance with the Rebel Mages and Ferelden. You give yourself too little credit, Kassandra.”

                The words were warm and touched Kassandra, touched her in a manner she didn’t think she deserved. “Your kind, but wrong.”

                She left the wall, heading back into the party, Solas watching here. “I don’t think so, Kassandra of the Adrestia. I think you’re exactly what’s needed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oookay, sorry for the long wait, life is hectic and all that jazz. This chapter was originally going to be longer, introducing Vivienne and Iron Bull...but I think that type of timeline jumping would have been jarring more than anything. So I decided to end it here. 
> 
> Teagan...not necessarily a fan, but the way he was portrayed in Inquisition was...weird to say the least. I didn't even think he was the same character cause he was a cold guy the whole time. So here, I tried to bring back some of the warmth he had from Origins, to an extent anyways. 
> 
> Now I just ask you to bear with me with this alliance with the Rebel Mages and Ferelden as of right now. I don't want to spoil anything but...time travel, that'll be important later on. 
> 
> Sera's a fun character to write for, if a bit challenging, the first time I played DA:I I had no idea what she was talking or what was going on, so Sylva's reaction is much like my own. 
> 
> Not much to say, I apologize if this chapter feels rushed or short, I hope to counteract that next chapter, hopefully ending with a reunion in Haven by the end. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> ~Darius Sobreitus


	8. The Enchanter and The Iron Bull

 

Sylva looked up at the tall, ornate doors to the Ghislain Estate, having just given her and Cass’s invitations to the guard at the door, now it was the case of going through those open doors and into the estate proper. Suffice to say, if the Seeker hadn’t been right next to her, she would have turned and avoided the whole thing. Instead, Sylva forced herself to take the next few steps forward and into the large building, filled to the brim, with people wearing masks.

                “Do we really need to do this?” Sylva asked under breath.

                “Much as I’d like to avoid this…yes,” Cass said in a similarly quiet tone. “Madame de Fer is the only Circle Mage I know of who hasn’t rebelled, presuming that we are unable to ally with the Rebel Mages, we will need their support and aid with the Breach.”

                Sylva groaned, “Do they even have that many Mages left?”

                Cass frowned, “Reports are less than ideal…but at most, perhaps a hundred in Val Royeaux?”

                “Well…fine, but the second someone asks me to dance, you’re on your own, Seeker.”

                “Hah! Trust me, I’ll be right behind you,” The Seeker assured, sharing an easy grin with the Herald.

                The two were dressed in well-made finery, black tunics with a blue-white undercoat and undertunic colors. Gold sashes around the waist completed the appearance. While Cass’s was simple, allowing her to simply wear a tunic and the pants with it, Sylva had a half-cape behind her right shoulder, as well as a flowing skirt over her pants that trailed to the floor. In short, Cass was dressed amicably and practically, while Sylva was dressed to impress everyone else and draw attention to her. If her nerves were high before, going into the manor in such attire was stretching them to their breaking point.

                The two stepped out into the middle of the hall, Sylva, despite her distaste for the vanity made flesh before her, was awed at the scope and detail in the patterns around the hall. She knew in the back of her head that all this luxury existed even while Alienages existed with the barest essentials to live, but she still had to marvel at the enormity of the hall around her. _And they say this is a smaller estate,_ she thought.

                The pair hadn’t made it but seven steps before a masked couple made their way over to them, both wearing masks, and yet, Sylva could tell they wore sickeningly pleasant smiles as they smooth bowed before the two.

                “Herald of Andraste,” The man said, his voice was smooth and denoted an age somewhat past his prime, “A pleasure to meet you, tell me are you here on the whim of Madame de Fer, or as a guest of Duke Bastien?”

                Before Sylva could answer, the woman began asking her own questions, given her voice, she sounded at least twenty years junior to her partner, “Oh I have heard the most astounding tales of you and deeds with Breach. They cannot all be true, but I wish to know from you personally?”

                Sylva, never one to play the dignified and measured response amongst masked vipers, went for the answer that likely didn’t help her credibility, but certainly kept her from having to ask about such stories. “Everything you’ve heard? Completely true!”

                Both courtiers nodded vigorously in pleasure, “Most excellent, Herald, you must come to these events more often!” The woman insisted.

                Whether Sylva was going to laugh in minor embarrassment or proudly puff out her chest, she didn’t know, as a loud and arrogant huff sounded off behind her.

                “The Inquisition? _Bah!_ What a load of _Pig shit!”_

Sylva and Cass turned to see a masked figure descending one of the twin stairs, armed with a dueling blade, and hid behind a mask, thought this one had a fake moustache over where he likely couldn’t grow one of his own. Even with the mask, his arrogance was present in his posture and voice.

                “Crazed ex-Templars, zealous sisters, and even outcast Seekers,” He said, shooting a glare at Cass, his voice carrying over the manor, and drawing the attention of all. “It’s all for political outcasts and degenerates to grasp for power.”

                Neither of the battle-hardened women were that impressed, “I’ll bow to your wisdom of smelling pig shit, I don’t take pleasure in it, alas,” Sylva said in mock-woe. Cass stifled a snort. The man stilled in anger, gazing from behind his mask at them. “Besides, I see you here and nowhere near the fronts of battle, I wonder how little you matter?”

                “The Inquisition is the only group taking action while the Chantry, Templars and Mages bicker like squabbling children, we intend to keep the peace. Something you can’t seem to see with the size of your mask,” Cass cut in.

                “How dare you!” He reached for his weapon, “I’ll show you to make a mockery of me-!”

                Before he could draw and before Sylva and Cass could disarm him, he froze, literally in this case and ice suddenly encased his arms to his side. He struggled in place, but could not break the ice or even move out of place.

                “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Alphonse,” Came a voice from behind Sylva and Cass, they turned to see a woman dressed in an elegant gown of silver and black, with a horned crown and a simple mask that showed more of her face than the others in the main hall. She floated rather than walked down the stairs, her gait and poise more of a dancer than a person. “You know such ill-tact and aggression towards my guests is…intolerable.”

                Her heeled feet touched the ground and she sauntered her way over to the frozen man, her eyes focused on him, like a predator swooping in on its prey. “You have done this within my house, and as such, your life, dear Marquis, is now in my hand.” She ran her hand down his jawline, her touch bearing poison as it did softness.

                “P-please,” The Marquis said, a shiver present in his voice, “F-forgive me, Madame Vivienne!”

                Vivienne seemed to consider this, “Were I the only wounded party, I would accept, but I am not am I?” She turned to Sylva and Cass, as if finally registering their presence in the room. “My dears, you are the wounded party, I would ask what should be done with this foolish man?”

                The Herald looked to Cass, who wearily shrugged her shoulders, “I would not want deaths to represent our cause…but I feel this man might deserve it.”

                Sylva smirked slightly, looking straight into the eyes of the fearful Marquis, seeing the quivering brown orbs behind the mask pleading silently for mercy. It would have been easy to call for his death then and there, not only for the insult, but the underlying bitterness that he aimed at the Inquisition. Sylva might not have been fully warmed up to the rebellious order yet, but seeing as they were the only humans she’d met in a long time who hadn’t attacked, killed or tried to make tranquil, they were quickly earning her appreciation. And this man had just insulted them.

                Sylva took a deep breath, an annoying voice in the back of her head sounding like her mother guiding her action, “I hope for his own sake that the Marquis has learned the error of his ways and tact?”

                With a snap of her fingers, the Marquis was released, his hand falling away from his sword and a deep breath inhaled into his lungs.

                “Alphonse, you shame yourself,” Vivienne said curtly, “For insulting and threatening my guests, you are no longer welcome here.”

                Humiliated and shamed, Alphonse bowed his head and made his way to the exit.

                Vivienne smiled and turned to the two, “I do apologize for that man, if you follow me, I shall find you better refreshment as recompense.” She turned and ascended the stairs; with the same grace she had descended them.

                Cass moved without hesitance as Sylva paused before following.

                The two were led to a secluded hallway with a window open, letting the moonlight seep in and cast the rest of the hall in darkness, the only light being the spot Vivienne stood in. Sylva frowned at this, it seemed as if the woman was trying to make herself appear as the light, some bastion of good will and fortune.

                “My Lady Seeker and Herald,” She said with an elegant bow, “I am Vivienne de Fer, Enchantress to the Imperial Court and First Enchanter of the Circle of Montsimmard, as well as, unofficially of course, the First Enchanter of the Last Loyal Mages of Thedas.”

                She said it was unofficial, but she wore it proudly as if it were something worth being proud of, Sylva shook her head, they were on a mission here, she could worry about diction of this Enchantress later. They had a mission to see through.

                “Quite the party here,” Sylva replied noncommittally, “Will that Marquis be any trouble going forward?”

                Vivienne hummed in amusement, “Oh, Alphonse will most likely be disowned for this transgression, his family is small, but devout, and this isn’t the first time he had disrupted or challenged someone to a duel at a social gathering. Best case for him is going to the Dales to redeem himself.”

                Sylva chuckled, “Maybe death would have been a mercy.”

                “Quite,” Vivienne said shortly, turning her attention to Cass. “Seeker Cassandra, you are of the Pentaghast family, correct? I was curious to know if-“

                Cass held up her hand, “I’d ask you to not speak of my family, I did not study the family tree before coming,” Her face was impassive, but the dry wit of her comment did make Vivienne’s eye twinkle in amusement.

                “Well said, I did run into a Pentaghast some months before, he went on and on about how his ancestor slayed three dragons in one hour or something akin to that, he had the chart of the family tree and a tooth supposedly from one of those dragons,” The Enchanter said, “Extravagant and thorough I will admit, but also pretentious.”

                Sylva stifled a snort, _You say ‘pretentious’ when you’re in a gilded manor of your own._ She remembered the refugees in Fereldan, hundreds of them, and likely thousands more evacuating demon-infested areas. Where were their comforts?

                “So,” Sylva butted in bluntly, not at all interested in Cassandra’s family at the moment, at least, not when they had a task at hand. “What are you offering the Inquisition?”

                Both women looked over at her, Vivienne, despite wearing a more open mask, had a rigid expression that was unreadable, while Cass smirked slightly, pleased that the pleasantries were interrupted.

                Despite the interruption, the Enchantress’ answer was immediate and forward, “I offer an alliance. Full use of the Circle Mages, our collective knowledge, skills and resources. As I understand that, in order to seal the Breach, a great deal of Magic will be needed, as well as immense study, something only I can offer you.”

                Sylva crossed her arms, unimpressed, “And what of the Rebel Mages?”

                Vivienne laughed, “Well, my dear, if you had access to them, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, obviously.”

                The arrogance and plain snark in this woman’s voice made Sylva bristle in anger, her fists clenching and nearly smoking from the flames that could be on her fingers in seconds. It was only the discipline honed by Keepers and iron skin she had built up dealing with more verbally aggressive humans that allowed her to keep her head cool. It did not however keep her mouth or barbing tongue from lashing out.

                “Curiously, you don’t have control of them either, so I wonder what use you’ll be with the scraps of Mages. Who stayed? The old, young, or the apathetic?” Sylva asked with a dangerous tilt in her voice. One that drew the eye of Madame de Fer away from the Seeker and to her. However, instead of anger or indignation in the Enchantress’ eyes, there was a glint of something else. Something far more dangerous.

                “Boldly put my dear, and questioned well,” She said without any hint of being offended. “I command the Mages who haven’t lost their senses, to put plainly. Those already with family, reputation of their own and the wits to understand that such a rebellion is hopeless, counter productive and only serves to cast us as the monsters many already consider us to be.”

                Cass stepped in before Sylva could give her outraged reply, “A moment please,” With a nod, the Seeker grabbed the elf by the arm and pulled her out of earshot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

                Sylva’s glare from the Enchantress turned to Cass, who nearly flinched at the intensity of it. “Cass, I want to leave.”

                The Seeker shook her head as if struck, “What?”

                “I don’t want to be here,” Sylva looked towards Vivienne again. “Not with her or any of these people.”

                Cass looked her in the eyes and seemed to read the situation, she sighed wearily, putting a hand on Sylva’s shoulder, “We need this alliance,” She said. “We have too few allies and fewer connections, as much as I might agree with your sentiments on Orlais, anything we can get from Vivienne and her Mages will bear fruit for us and give us resources we need.”

                Sylva could tell that the Seeker was apologetic in her tones, but she also knew that such power would come with a price.

                “And how long before that woman decides to use us for her benefit?” Sylva asked. “We give her one foothold, and she’ll bend the Inquisition to suit her whims and not ours.”

                A dry smirk crossed Cass’ face, “Not if Leliana and I watch over her,” She said, once against sobering her expression and looking Sylva in the eye. “Please, allow this alliance to pass, and believe me, if Madame de Fer steps out of line, you’ll have the first privilege of kicking her out the door.”

                The elf perked up at this, “Promise?”

                The Seeker smiled, “I’ll even hold her still for you.”

                Beaming, Sylva nodded, “Okay, but if I get any feeling that she’s up to something or will compromise us?”

                “Be assured, Leliana and I will take your words to heart and confer with you,” She said, her eyes open and sincere.

                Taking a deep breath, Sylva nodded and made towards the Grand Enchanter. “Madame de Fer,” She began cordially, “It would be our…pleasure to welcome your aide and resources to the Inquisition.”

                A spark of pleasure and success flooded the woman’s dark eyes, “Charmed, I assure you that you will not regret your choice,” Sylva had to resist the urge to snort at the woman’s comment. “But please dear, call me Vivienne.”

                _Only if you stop looking at me like some exotic pet,_ Sylva thought. “Alright, Vivinene,” She said much more cordially. “Will you travel with us?”

                “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose dear,” She said graciously. “I’ll bring my trusted Mages and supplies within the week, small enough to move quickly, but certainly more than able to bring immediate help to the Inquisition in Haven.”

                The Enchanter stepped away, “Until then, enjoy the Soiree.”

                Sylva watched her go, her steps confident and assured, while the so-called Herald felt doubtful and tired, exhaling heavily. The Seeker came up from behind and pressed a hand on her shoulder. “You did well.”

                “I hope so,” Sylva replied.

~

                The Storm Coasts as they were called reminded Kassandra of home, albeit colder. Something like the coasts of Macedonia in the autumn or in times of rain. The tall trees and rocky cliffs giving way to the sea, it was almost like being home. And that seemed to bring the melancholy to her full force.

                Standing on edge of the Inquisition camp, looking out on the sea, Kassandra was reminded of her companions so far from her, and her own wish to be back at sea. In calm or storm, the rhythm of the water on the hull was like Poseidon’s heartbeat caressing the hull, promising an easy day and kind voyage. Even in storm and under his wrath, Kassandra knew that men like Barnabas had survived in the sea his whole life and knew the best way to either wait out the storm or best way to navigate one.

                “That’s just my fucking lot isn’t it?” Kassandra muttered aloud. _Alone amidst a raging storm with no knowledge or control of where I land or how to skirt around the fact._

                “Doing alright there, Mercy?”

                Kassandra snorted at the sudden presence of the dwarf, turning to him, “It’s usually me who gets to sneak up on people, I’m not used to others doing it to me.”

                “Ha! Well thankfully I’m not Rivani, I’ll at least let you know if I’m there, she’ll just grab your ass, if she’s had a few drinks anyways,” Varric said wistfully, looking out on the coast of the sea. “Well, her and Hawke, I swear, alone those two have high sex drives alone, but together? If they set their sights on you, good luck!”

                The Misthios looked at Varric, his eyes going distant as he scanned the turbulent horizon of the sea, as if searching for something. “You miss them, don’t you?” She asked.

                “Yeah,” Varric replied, not even realizing he did so. He looked over at Kassandra who smiled knowingly. Sighing, the dwarf eased his shoulders, “I knew we weren’t going to be around each other for a while, but the longer it goes, the more I wonder if I’m going to get into shit I can’t came back from, or they do.”

                Taking out Bianca, he adjusted some of the levers and strings, “At least together we can watch each other’s backs, and at worst, go out together. But far apart like this? I worry more, and I don’t like being a worrier.”

                The dwarf shook his head, “Ah, shit. You don’t want to hear me talking about this, I’m sure you miss your own people.”

                “I do,” Kassandra agreed. “That doesn’t mean you’re suffering isn’t equal to mine, or less painful.”

                They stood in silence together for a few moments, the air easy between them. Kassandra could tell Varric wanted to express something sincere to her, an acknowledgement of gratitude perhaps, but he couldn’t seem to string together the right words. _Odd how the silver-tongues often have trouble getting their words together. At least when they’re sincere._

                After a considerable time of thought, Varric finally cleared his throat, “Thanks.” Short, simple and to the point. Kassandra smiled.

                “You’re welcome.”

                Varric slowly made his way off, Kassandra following him shortly after to the camp, there the Inquisition forces were sketching out maps, checking the ravens for reports and overall preparing for a full day in the wounded coasts. As this happened, Blackwall made his way out of his tent, still only wearing the simple breastplate over his gambeson. He saw Kassandra and smiled at her.

                “Rest well?” He asked.

                “Well enough,” Kassandra replied, “Not quite used to the cold here.”

                Blackwall laughed, “At this end of Thedas, everything is either too cold or too hot, it seems. Not much way around it,” He made his way to the fire where the camp cook was giving out portions of bear meat, there were dozens of them in the area. He took one for himself and another brining it back to the Misthios. “If you were hungry.”

                Kassandra took it, taking a bite, and chewing thoughtfully, before again letting her eyes fall to Blackwall’s gear.

                “We need to outfit you better,” She said.

                The Grey Warden looked at her, “I’m sorry?”

                “Your armor,” She said, “That small breastplate isn’t going to do much in the long run, especially against magic.”

                Blackwall looked down at himself and smirked. “Well, until recently, I didn’t need it too much. I move faster in this anyways.”

                Kassandra raised an eyebrow, “Oh? But I thought the Wardens were known for their stamina?”

                “They are,” Blackwall replied, “But I tend to travel more than the usual Warden, sometimes up sheer cliffs with a strong woman, so I tend to travel light if I can manage it.”

                Though he made a fair point, Kassandra still looked at him with her perked eyebrow, he met her gaze, and despite his stubbornness, eventually caved, laughing. “Alright, soon as we get to a new smithy, I’ll put in an order for new armor.”

                “Good,” Kassandra said with a wide smile, “I’d hate for anything to happen to our stalwart Grey Warden.”

                Blackwall nodded, a look coming over his face, “We’re here in the Wounded Coasts just for the mercenaries, correct?”

                “Well, them and the rifts, why?”

                He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously, “It’s just…well, there are Warden artifacts I’ve heard of in the area, and I thought…if we had the time…” He shook his head, “Ah, fuck it. We have more important things to worry about.”

                “We can make time,” Kassandra replied. “We’ll be here for a few weeks at least, I don’t see why we can’t explore more thoroughly, besides, there looks like there’ll be more cliffs to climb.”

                Blackwall, surprised at the offer, could only smile broadly at the offer. When he recollected his wits, he chuckled, “Sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but just because I can climb cliffs, doesn’t mean I necessarily like it as much as you.”

                “That’s fine,” Kassandra said with a shrug, “I prefer a good ride on horseback anyways.”

                 “That I can do,” Blackwall said.

                “Good,” Kassandra said, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the bear. Get your gear, we leave in the hour.”

                He bowed, “As you say, my lady.”

                Kassandra left the main cluster of tents, going to the table where a map of the area was set up, she was beaten to it by Solas, who was making marks on it. She approached, curious as to what he was doing.

                “I’m marking the rifts,” He said, not looking over his shoulder.

                The Mistios stood to the side of him, looking at the markings on the map, “Witnesses told you this?”

                “Scouts,” Solas said, “And some of my own ventures into the fade. It helped bring clarity to their general locations.”

                Kassandra hummed, impressed, “Sounds like a useful skill, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to teach me?”

                Solas scoffed, “I’m certain you’d find uses for it,” a few moments passed before he suddenly looked at her in surprise. “You’re serious?”

                “If it helps us find rifts and the other information you’ve given us, yes.”

                The elf was taken aback by this, “I apologize, it is just, no one I’ve ever met has considered my talent as anything other than dangerous. Surely you know the risks of what the Fade might entail?”

                “Possession, an endless sleep, or perhaps getting killed while in that state,” Kassandra listed off, then shrugged, “No more dangerous than leaping into battle as I do every day.”

                “Hmm,” The elf hummed. “I keep forgetting you are not of this place and your thoughts and values reflect that. Very few would deal with subjects of magic and the fade so casually as you do. Some might call you reckless for it.”

                Kassandra wore a rueful smile, “That is one word I’ve been called before.”

                Solas chuckled, “I meant not to call you that, only that others might perceive you as such.”

                “They can say what they like,” Kassandra said with a shrug. “I’ve never been in many people’s good graces before, I can’t imagine I will be starting now.”

                Solas chuckled again, but offered no words. At that time, a scout rushed into camp straight for her, informing her of the mercenary company they sought.

                “My Lady, the Chargers are nearby, on the coast and it looks like they’re fighting!”

                Instantly Kassandra was moving, equipping herself, whistling for Ikaros and getting her party together. Varric and Blackwall were armed and following in short order with Solas casting some spells of protection around them, silvery green barriers of energy encasing their forms. He did the same with the half-dozen Inquisition soldiers following them. They were ready for whatever the wounded coast would throw at them.

~

                Iron Bull swung his axe with brutal and deadly efficiency, cutting through the barrier and armor of one of the Tevinter Mages they fought. Despite their skill and use of magic, it didn’t do so well in close quarters combat, especially against Qunari.

                Grunting, Bull turned, catching a charging Vint soldier by the neck. He couldn’t see their eyes behind the encompassing helmet they wore. He almost considered snapping his neck, but his hand had been struck early on in the battle by a fire spell from the very same Mage he had just killed. And while it gripped well, he could tell he wouldn’t get much use out of squeezing his hand.

                Instead, he threw the solider to the ground and with a raised leg and boot, broke his neck when he hit the ground. He grunted, turning to the next clutch of soldiers, three of them, all charging at once, screaming out of fear or desperation.

                _Tch, amateurs,_ He thought. Crouching low and angling his hors to be level with the charging soldiers. With his own yell, charged them, they however didn’t seize upon forming up to stop him, only stilling or trying to avoid his wrath coming down upon them. As such, one of them was gored on his horn piercing his shoulder and screaming when he wrenched the horn out, another thrown down to the ground, and the final slain when he swung his axe out and cut him down with a heavy strike.

                A wild scream from behind alerted the Qunari of an incoming attacker, rolling his one eye, Bull turned only to see that scream cut off by Krem, slicing his throat with his sword and nodding. Bull nodded back, he had it, but it was good that his second was watching their asses, others might not have been as lucky.

                Surveying the skirmish field with eye and ears, he knew it was already over. He looked over up the beach, there, cautiously approaching was a small band of people approaching them. Their banner was of the Inquisiton.

                _Right on time,_ He thought, knowing they had to have seen that last act of fighting even from afar. He turned to his people.

                “Alright Chargers, clean up!” He called, his company already going to their assigned tasks, Stitches taking in the wounded, while Skinner a few others killed the remaining Vints. They didn’t have the supplies or time to take prisoners, and seeing ransoms weren’t going to happen, it was easier and cleaner to just end the suffering the wounded bastards. Unless of course they put up enough of a fight, then they might get an offer to join the company. None of them were in this group though. Bull spat on the ground, “If they’re going to have their claws on the coast, they might as well send people who can fucking fight!” He grumbled.

                Krem approached, taking off his helmet and wiping his face, he was flushed and slightly breathless, but looking pleased. “Six wounded Chief, no dead.”

                Bull’s face broke out into a grin, “That’s what I like to hear! Make sure the Vints are dead, then we’ll figure out what’s next,” He looked towards the approaching figures. “See if we got the job.”

                Krem nodded, heading towards Skinner’s group, while Bull stood and walked towards the group approaching them. He almost snorted seeing the irregular appearance of the group, there were a dozen soldiers in Inquisition armor and mail, all with regulation weapons and gear, all human, then a dwarf with a custom crossbow, and elf who carried himself like a Dalish but bore no vallislin, a burly man wearing worn Grey Warden armor, and a human woman wearing strange armor led them. It made him feel all the better about asking to sign up with them.

                _They care more for business than appearances, I like that,_ He thought.

                “Inquisition, right?” He asked as he approached, towering all of them easily, and while he saw flickers of intimidation flare in all of them, the leading woman didn’t so much as flinch. In fact, her confidence remained steady and body language seemed to scream disappointment of all things.

                “I thought you’d be bigger,” The woman said, her voice strong and mirthful, also with an accent that Bull couldn’t place, the first time that had ever happened to him.

                Bull laughed, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that, first time meeting a Qunari?” He asked.

                She nodded, “Qunari yes, but not the first time meeting a bull man. Though, he was more bull than man.”

                Iron Bull couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he supposed it didn’t really matter, it was time for business anyways, “Well, hope I’m better looking than him, I’m Iron Bull, and these are my Chargers,” He said, gesturing towards the beach where the company was situated.

                Kassandra stepped forward, getting a better look at them, nodding in approval, “How many?”

                “Thirty-eight as of now,” Bull replied. “Don’t want the number more than fifty, need a smaller group for the kind of work we do. More than fifty and ambushes aren’t as clean, we don’t move as fast, and get unwieldy in combat. Don’t need more than that anyways with this group.”

                The woman nodded, “Not a bad group, and you fight well!”

                “That we do!” He said, taking a seat on a large jutting stone. “So, you’ve seen us in action and you can see what we’re made of. How about it?”

                Kassandra crossed her arms, and looked him in the eye, “Well, I’ve been a mercenary, fought on both sides during a war, and was paid well for both sides. Why swear to the Inquisition? What’s in it for you besides steady pay? Unless you’ve been pain already?”

                Bull’s eyebrow raised in surprise at the foresight within the woman before him, having not expected it, especially not the detail about her being a mercenary.

                Instead of being offended or defensive he chuckled. The woman continued to eye him, waiting for a response as her group looked between each other uncertainty.

                “You’re a smart one!” Bull praised. “As to why, well, you guys are killing demons, and if there’s one place where we’ll get action and pay in one package, the Inquisition looks like it.”

                Kassandra nodded, but looked at him expectantly, Bull smirked, “The other reason, you might appreciate…might piss you off. You’ve heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

                She frowned for a moment, thinking, “Spies of a sort…secret agents that exert the will of the Qun in more covert manners?”

                “Pretty much,” Bull said. “Well, I am one. There are concerns about the Breach and the rifts, they want me close to the action. I figure, you get me and my company, and I get the Qun off my ass by being close to the action. Sending some nondescript reports, that kind of crap.”

                “What goes into these reports?” Kassandra asked.

                “Basic stuff really, nothing that’s going to compromise the Inquisition or leave an army at the door, just enough to keep my superiors happy and somewhat informed.”

                Kassandra didn’t look convinced, her dark eyes bearing holes into him, “Can I trust you though? The Qun, as far as I can understand it, is a way of life, a duty. What’s to keep you loyal to us?”

                “Let me put this way, my task right now is to get cozy with the Inquisiton, how that is done and in what capacity is up to me. I’m choosing to be upfront because otherwise we’ll get a tense situation when I’m found out, confrontation happens, we divide angrily…you get the idea. Too much bullshit, not enough action, better you know where I’m coming from and what that comes with,” He said.

                The woman turned towards his company, “And the Chargers? Are they Qun as well?”

                “Oh, hell no,” Bull said with smirk. “I formed them independent of my orders, they don’t have any loyalty or association with the Ben-Hassrath except for working for me.”

                Something happened that Bull hadn’t experienced since he had been in Par Vollen, the human woman before him looked at him with scrutinizing eyes, he was used to that, but it was the way she did it. It reminded him eerily of the reeducators, peering into his soul to see past his woven masks and dry wit, to see inside his head, it seemed and find the truths he might have hidden behind lies. While it was similar, Kassandra seemed to have less heat and edge to her gaze, seeming to assess more than interrogate. While he knew he could read most people with a few minutes of astute observation, he felt she was assessing him with this one look.

                After an eternity of twenty seconds, Kassandra nodded. “On behalf of the Inquisition, we accept your proposal, we’ll welcome the Chargers into our forces.”

                Bull grinned, “Aha! Good! Krem, we got the job! Get camp struck, we’re moving to where the Inquisition can keep an eye on us.”

                Krem nodded, and began dispensing orders to the Chargers, picking up their wounded and moving out to their main camp. As that was done, Bull tried to keep his pleasure from showing, he had known about the redhead spymaster, and word was she was beautiful, and there was no doubt those people had told the truth. Then of course setting things right here in the south being the primary reason, especially among his superiors. However, Bull couldn’t help but feel more incentive with this particular woman, who carried herself with more experience and pain than most he had met, also having the history as a mercenary, but the bearing of a commander as well. It would be interesting to see where this went.

                “So, what first?” He asked, hefting his axe.

                Kassandra smirked, “First, we take care of some demons.”

                Bull grinned, “Sounds like fun!”            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this one, other projects, life, trying to finish my book, you've heard it all by now. 
> 
> This chapter is pretty light on overall plot, serving for more minor pieces of character development and introducing Vivienne and Bull, full disclosure, I hate Vivienne. As a companion she's fine because it's good to see that some people will join the Inquisition for less than ideal reasons and also be in it for themselves, but as a person...Realistically I wouldn't let this woman near me or my organization. 
> 
> Sorry again for the lack of updates, hope to get another chapter out before the end of the year! Till then, take care and be well!
> 
> -DariusSobrietus


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